


Nine Times Abbie and Ichabod  were at the Pub (aka The Sleepy Hollow Pub Crawl)

by hollowlife



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-10
Updated: 2015-09-15
Packaged: 2018-02-04 02:46:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 32,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1763287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollowlife/pseuds/hollowlife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of one-shots - completely unrelated and with a non-linear timeline - in which Abbie and Ichabod hit a pub.</p><p>* Title changed to <b>Nine</b> Times, and maybe more, depending on whether inspiration hits or not!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Old Triangle

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the "Five Times" series that have been posted on here. Will be a bunch of fluffy one-shots where Abbie and Ichabod (and maybe others) end up at a pub. Because the show so needs to do this - badly.
> 
> The title has changed to Six times. Mannymd90 issued me a bit of a challenge in the comments, and I got a bit inspired so now there are six stories and maybe more, depending on if I get nicely inspired.
> 
> And now that Sleepy Hollow has been renewed for a third season, it's time to add more!
> 
> The goal is to reach TEN stories in this series.

**The Old Triangle**

Abbie was sitting by herself in the Old Triangle, absent-mindedly munching on some fries as she devoured her latest novel. It was after eight o'clock on a Wednesday and the grungy Irish pub was half empty.

She had just worked a long shift and was exhausted but too wired to sleep. Instead of going home, she decided she'd get some comfort food and drink and just unwind for a bit.

She had left Crane in the Archives, hidden behind a stack of books, completely lost in some research and mumbling to himself. She offered to give him a ride back to the cabin, but he kindly declined, saying he needed to complete some important translation or something or other.

She had already devoured her burger and was onto her second pint, voraciously reading, when she noticed someone lurking next to her booth.

Looking up, she locked eyes with one of the most beautiful men she had ever seen. He was tall and and nicely built, with neatly gelled short spiky hair. The tight black T-shirt and jeans did him many favours, and Abbie couldn't stop her eyes from drifting down along his body. He was nicely filled out... _everywhere._

"Am I interrupting?" He asked.

"No, no...not at all." She forced her eyes back up to his face.

"I was just wondering what you were reading?"

"Oh!" She was caught off guard. _Why the hell did he want to know that?_ "It's just a stupid novel." She slipped the book quickly off of the table and into the bag sitting at her knees. She felt slightly embarrassed to admit she was totally engrossed in a stupid historical romance novel.

"You don't want to spend the night with your nose in a book, do you? I was hoping I could join a beautiful lady for the evening?" He asked, a sexy smile on his face.

For a mere second, Abbie truly thought about turning him down. She really just wanted to be left alone, to drink and eat and devour her book in peace. But his liquid black eyes seemed to be begging her to say yes. And she loved a man who begged. Abbie figured why not? When was the last time she had the opportunity to openly flirt with a gorgeous man? And he was a gorgeous man....

"Yeah, sure." she replied as she licked her lips.

He took a seat opposite to her and smiled again. 

Abbie ignored the fluttering in her stomach.

.................

After about an hour, Abbie was completely regretting allowing this guy to join her. He may have been beautiful, but by god, was he ever arrogant and self-absorbed. His name was David and he was trying to impress her by talking about his stock portfolio, his golf handicap, his sports car and how he took trips to the Caribbean to go yachting three times a year. She learned he didn't need to tan in advance, as his skin was already quite perfectly coloured. She also learned that he employed his own personal chef and butler. Abbie was sure he was making up half of the stories he was telling her, especially when he claimed to have attended the Oscars the previous year as some actresses' date.

 _Just my friggin' luck._ She grumbled in her head. _Gorgeous and full of himself._

She really hated guys like this. Just a waste of time and space. He continued to ramble on about himself, rarely asking anything about her own life, her job, her family, her likes, dislikes or anything of substance. Instead, he constantly fished for compliments, hoping for Abbie to say something to boost his already overinflated ego.

Abbie was struggling to hide her eye rolling while thinking of a good excuse to get the hell out of there, when she happened to glance toward the entrance and saw Irving, Jenny and Crane wander in.

_Oh god no...._

Jenny spotted her first, quirked her eyebrow and immediately headed over, followed by her boss and partner.

"Hey Abbie." Jenny said, grinning wildly. "Who's your friend?"

David turned to Jenny and gave her a sensuous once over, then as he glanced over the two men, his face turned a bit sour.

Abbie had no choice but to introduce them. With a deep sigh, she said, "David, this is my sister Jenny, my boss Frank Irving and my uh...work partner...Ichabod Crane. This is David."

"Nice to meet you." At least he was polite.

Jenny now plopped down beside David and pulled Irving into the booth next to her. "Hope you don't mind if we join you?" She said with a amused grin.

Abbie bit her lip as Crane slid into the bench next to her. From the corner of her eye, she could see Crane studying David carefully.

Abbie shot daggers at her sister. She really, really wanted to leave, but with their arrival, she would have to continue to listen to David spout his entitled bullshit. Instead, she asked as politely as she could manage, "What are you guys doing here?"

Irving was the one who answered "Your lovely sister decided to pay a visit and figured the best way for me to serve Westchester county was to go drinking with her."

"In my opinion, a much better use of your time than hunched over paperwork." Jenny pointed out with a grin.

"The Captain and Miss Jenny were kind enough to invite me along." Crane said humbly.

"Ah, you're a Englishman!" David piped up. "I visit London every year for at least a couple of weeks." He leaned forward and whispered almost conspiratorially, "I have a standing invitation to visit the Queen anytime I am there." He winked at Abbie.

"Her Majesty is quite fortunate to enjoy your company." Crane replied, thin veiled sarcasm dripping from his voice, though David didn't seem to notice.

It took barely another half an hour for the others to start rolling their eyes. Irving and Jenny were onto their second beers, while Crane was onto his third shot of whiskey. David had ordered a cognac, and Abbie wondered if he was trying to show up Crane, thinking her partner was some sort of cultured competition.

Abbie realized that David was also starting to get buzzed or somewhat drunk, because he suddenly turned to Crane to ask, "What's your name again?"

"Ichabod Crane."

"Icha..what? Icha-bod. What kind of name is that?" David sniggered a bit.

"It is an unusual name, I admit." Crane answered politely.

"That's the worst name ever! Like, what do women call you in bed?"

"Excuse me?"

Abbie's eyes widened as she looked over at Jenny and Irving. Both had their hands lightly covering their mouths, trying to suppress their smiles and clearly waiting for the show to begin.

"C'mon bro. I mean, there's no way women are in the throes of passion and moaning out _oh god Ichabod....yes Icha-bod..._ " David now slapped his hand on the table, laughing at his own joke. "C'mon, man, it's just not sexy."

Crane leaned a bit forward to address David and Abbie was already inwardly groaning. She knew Crane was about to give him one of his patented propriety speeches.

_Oh god no, please don't go there...._

Instead, Crane quirked his eyebrow and said, "She does not need to utter my name to know it is I who causes her to beg for more. And she _always_ begs for more."

Crane straighted back up and before anyone could respond, he added. "Remember, Abbie?" At this, he calmly took a sip of his whiskey.

Abbie's eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. _He did not just say that..._

Irving and Jenny completely lost it and collapsed against each others shoulders, completely dissolving into fits of laughter while David just sitting there slack-mouthed.

Crane nonchalantly took another sip of his drink and she swore his eyes were glittering in amusement. His eyebrow were tweaked a little and she could just see that the corner's of his mouth were turned up a little and Abbie knew - _knew!_ \- he was holding back a smirk.

Running her hand over her face as she shook her head, Abbie couldn't help but laugh. At least one good thing would come of this. There was little chance that David would think about asking her for a date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The Old Triangle pub in the story is named after The Old Triangle Irish Alehouse, located in Halifax, Nova Scotia (Canada). Awesome atmosphere and offers a good pint of Strongbow on tap. Strongbow is an alcoholic English cider and tastes amazing. The best place for a good pint of Strongbow - Any pub in London, England!!
> 
> I would love to see these two hits some pubs in the show. This needs to happen!  
> Not beta'ed and comments/kudos appreciated.


	2. Truth or Dare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jenny, Abbie, Crane and Katrina play "truth or dare" in the pub and tell each other about their first time having sex. Story from Jenny's point of view.
> 
> I know, I know. Most people don't usually want to read fics that include Katrina but this one I think is a bit different, so please, kindly give it a chance!

"Alright we need some levity. Truth or Dare?" Jenny pointed to her sister Abbie, who was seated in the booth next to her. It was late Friday night and the Mills sisters were sitting with the Crane's in a booth at a small bar around the corner from Abbie's house.

Jenny had introduced Katrina to the Cosmopolitan and the witch was carefully sipping her second one. She had figured Katrina would probably be a lightweight, but then remembered that most people in the 18th century regularly drank alcohol with every meal, due to the water most likely being contaminated.

Both she and her sister Abbie were enjoying a gin and tonic, while Crane was slowly savouring a whiskey neat. Jenny could feel herself starting to get lightly buzzed off of the strong drink.

"Seriously, Jenny? That's a kids’ game." Abbie replied.

"No, it's a good bar game." she retorted. "It’s how you get to know someone." Jenny knew that her motivation for inviting the Crane's was a selfish one. She was dying to get to know the shadowy Mrs. Crane and figured the best way was to try and get her good and stinking drunk.

"What is Truth or Dare?" Katrina politely asked. The redhead was sitting across from Jenny and looking truly confused.

"It's a game. If you pick Truth, you have to honestly answer any question asked. If you pick Dare, you have to do whatever the person demands." Jenny explained with a grin.

"Oh, that sounds like fun." Katrina replied, lightly clapping her hands together in excitement.

A small _hrumph_ emerged from Ichabod Crane. He was seated next to Katrina, slightly hunched forward, long nose buried in an old book.

"What was that snort of derision for?" Abbie pointedly asked.

"I do not wish to partake in the idle gossip that you _hens_ seem to revel in." He emphasized the word hen.

"Oh come on, Crane. You love gossip, and you know it." Abbie now rolled her eyes.

"I do not wish to participate in this foolish game, thank you very much." He took a sip of his whiskey, never looking up from his book. 

"Suit yourself." Jenny shrugged. "Alright, Katrina. Truth or Dare. What do you pick?" 

"Truth."

Jenny now grinned as she looked back and forth between Crane and Katrina. There was no way she was going to hold back or ask tame questions. "Tell us about your first time you had sex. When and where you lost your virginity? We already know who." Jenny amused eyes flashed to Crane, who flinched a little. Crane hunched a bit more over his book, trying to appear as though he was not focused on the conversation, but Jenny could tell he was clearly listening.

"Oh...." Katrina looked a bit taken aback. She glanced at her husband, a flush of red creeping up the pale skin on her cheeks.

Jenny could tell that Crane was a bit uncomfortable. She figured it was because Katrina's story would obviously involve talking about Ichabod himself. Both she and Abbie naturally assumed that Katrina and Ichabod had been each other’s first and only partners.

"Well, I am not sure where to start. This is something that I have never even told Ichabod the full story of." Katrina's cheeks flushed even redder.

"What?" In their surprise, Jenny and Abbie spoke at the same time.

Crane now straightened up. "If you must know, both Katrina and I had previous... _encounters_...before we were together." He huffed, seemingly annoyed to have to divulge this information. He once again refocused on his book.

Jenny now rubbed her hands together in glee. She was clearly enjoying making the Crane's squirm. "Alright, then both of you have to spill. We want some good 18th century sex stories! You first Katrina."

"Well, my first time was with a blacksmith. I was 18 years old and had been sent by my father to pick up a set of horseshoes that he had forged for my family. He was not very educated but oh he was beautiful..." The redhead now appeared lost in thought, staring off into space as she was recollecting that encounter. A wide smile appeared on her face. "He was not much taller than I, with beautiful long blond hair, and the most darkest of eyes. He was broad shouldered and so muscular. His arms were truly a wonder. I could barely encircle both of my hands around his bicep. He always left his shirts untied whilst he worked, and you could see his firm..." she trailed off again as she seemed to realize where she was and who was sitting next to her.

Abbie and Jenny both burst out laughing at the story while Crane let out another _hrumph_.

"I came back many times in the guise of asking the cost for potential work. Then one day, he led me to the back room and we made passionate love. I remember his hands, so calloused…" She sighed deeply. "He was just marvelous."

It was not lost on Jenny that the man Katrina had described was the complete opposite of Crane. She figured Abbie realized this too, because she spied Abbie's eyebrow quirking up in surprise.

Jenny looked over at Crane to see he wore the most disgruntled expression on his face. He had closed his book now and Jenny could see his left hand slightly twitching.

"Oh, come on Crane, lighten up. We want to know who you lost your virginity to." Abbie said upon seeing the expression on her partner's face. "And where?"

Crane arched his eyebrow as a slightly smug expression appeared on his face. "Ladies first." he lightly challenged. Jenny could tell he was now fully engaged in the conversation.

"All right, I'll go first." Abbie offered. "It was in a graveyard. I was 17 and it was the first guy I ever dated in high school. It was late at night and we were walking home from the movies. We took a shortcut through a graveyard and you know...one thing led to another and we ended up having sex on top of a grave. You know, come to think of it..." Abbie herself was the one now lost in thought. Her brow narrowed for a moment as she seemed to be remembering. "Oh god, I think the grave was of some guy who died in the late 1700's. Crap." Abbie put her hands over her mouth in mock regret, trying to hide her smile.

"A graveyard! Wow, you never told me that?" Jenny laughed. "I hope the last name on the grave wasn't Crane." She pointedly avoided the glaring death stare shooting from Crane's narrowed eyes.

"There's not much to tell. It really wasn't that good. He didn't last very long." Abbie stated matter-of-factly. "His first time too so you know..." She trailed off, inadvertently glancing at Crane, whose own face mirrored his wife by flushing vividly red.

"That is unfortunate your first time was so unenjoyable." Katrina said in an honest and sympathetic tone. "I do hope your lovers have improved."

"Yeah they have, thank god." Abbie just shrugged. "Anyway, your turn sis."

"In a tent, with a hot local who was teaching me military tactics when I was in Brazil. He could barely speak english, but my god, his body was like an Adonis. He knew exactly what he was doing too. It was amazing." Jenny sighed.

"What did he look like?" Katrina asked.

"Oh man, he was gorgeous. Tall, but not too big, with nice lean muscles. He had this amazing shoulder-length dark wavy hair and a trimmed beard too. He was totally tall dark and handsome but his eyes were really blue and intense and...

Jenny trailed off when she realized that the others were smirking at her, with the smuggest expression coming from Crane himself. She suddenly realized that she could have been describing him to a T. "He was also tanned." She added in annoyance. “ _Very tan._ ”

To Jenny's relief, Abbie turned the focus to Crane. "You're the last one. C'mon, spill it!"

"Can I not choose dare instead?" He was trying to stall.

"No way, British. We all answered the question. You’re next. We need a guy's perspective." Jenny smirked.

Crane let out a long sigh. "Fine, then I will divulge my own _first time_. It was when I was a lad of 17 in London. It was a rite of passage to carve ones name into King Edward’s Coronation chair, which was located at Westminster Abbey. I stole into Westminster late in the night and found it deserted save for a lovely young woman who was dared to do the same. We had an instant attraction. One thing led to another and..." Crane paused a moment to clear his throat. "We had...relations...on that chair in St. Edwards Chapel. Then carved our names into the chair afterward."

"No!!" Jenny couldn't hide her surprise.

"You didn't break the chair?" Abbie asked with a snorting laugh.

"It was a very robust chair." Crane cleared his throat again, his face going even redder. "Also, I was...my word...I cannot believe I am to say this..." He quickly drank down his whiskey in embarrassment before blurting out. "If you must know, I was seated in the chair whilst she was...above. And yes, the first time was quite short, but not the second time."

All three of the woman let out peals of laughter while Crane looked truly mortified.

"I knew of Westminster, Ichabod, but you never told me of the chair!" Katrina giggled.

"Crane, you kinky bastard." Abbie quipped good-naturedly.

Katrina now looked back and forth between Abbie and her husband, a wide grin on her face. "I must point this out, Ichabod. Do you realize that both you and Abbie's first time was in a place filled with graves? Westminster is also full of the dead." She paused as she delicately drained the last of her Cosmopolitan. "And they say only witches are into such ghoulish activities."

Jenny burst out laughing again as Crane and Abbie just shook their heads, annoyed at the connection. She waved the waitress over and asked for another round of drinks. Jenny had to admit to herself, she was surprised at how open and good humoured Katrina seemed to be. The redhead definitely had a good sense of humour and seemed to revel in teasing Crane as much as she herself did. Jenny now turned to Abbie.

"Truth or Dare?" she asked.

"Truth."

"Where is the kinkiest place you've ever had sex?"

To her and Abbie's utter delight, the faces of Katrina and Crane once again flamed completely red...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The Coronation Chair is also known as King Edwards chair. It was made in 1296 for King Edward I but named after Edward the Confessor. The chair was used for his coronation and the coronation for every English monarch since, including Queen Elizabeth II. It's kept in St. Edwards chapel in Westminster Abbey. In the 18th and 19th centuries, people would carve their initials into the chair, just as I have Crane carve his initials.
> 
> A Cosmopolitian is a drink of triple sec, vodka, cranberry juice and lime, served in a martini glass.
> 
> Comments and Kudos always welcome and loved to death!


	3. The Good Old Hockey Game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Abbie and Irving meet up with Crane and Jenny at the local pub, and Abbie finds that her sister and partner have bonded a little unorthodoxically while watching a hockey game. I like the idea of Crane and Jenny having some good bonding moments, only because I think Jenny would be a hoot and get Crane to loosen up a bit.
> 
> This fic contains hockey, drunkeness, flirty Ichabbie, some 'interesting' behaviour and a heavy Canadian influence.
> 
> Some terms to note before.
> 
> Habs = The Montreal Canadiens. They are an NHL hockey team.  
> Rask = Tukka Rask, the starting goaltender for the Boston Bruins.  
> Loyalist = United Empire Loyalist. Refers to those loyal to England who - after the Revolutionary War - fled north to what soon became the country of Canada.

Lieutenant Abbie Mills and Captain Frank Irving wandered into the Fox and Firkin at ten that evening to meet up with her sister Jenny and witness partner Ichabod Crane. She had received a text message from her sister a few hours ago, demanding that she come to the pub and simply have a drink and unwind.

Despite Abbie`s insistence that she had more important things to consider and do, Jenny knew better, "God knows you desperately need to relax. Now shut up and get down here to the Firkin. Crane and I want you here. And bring your boss with you."

The pub was exceedingly loud and rowdy - some sports game was playing on the TV and from what she could see, people in the pub were screaming at the TV in rage and excitement.

Abbie scanned the room carefully and quickly spying Jenny and Crane`s distinctive forms among the sea of hockey jersey clad men and women.

Jenny and Crane were standing at a round table facing a TV screen, with four grungy looking men flanking them - two on either side of the table - all tense in their seats as they yelled at the TV screen.

Jenny was currently banging her right hand repeatedly against the table. "C`mon, score goddammit!"

To Abbie`s shock, Crane was also yelling at the screen, "My god, pass the bloody puck! Move and assault that goaltender!"

Abbie looked at Irving, who just shrugged his shoulders like this was nothing out of the ordinary. "Looks like Crane's learned about hockey."

_What the hell?_ Abbie thought to herself as she watched her sister and partner continued yelling at the TV and slapping the table in frustration as the final minutes of the game unraveled.

"Rask is not that good! Score, goddammit!" This was Jenny yelling.

Crane then added "Shoot that godforsaken puck into the blasted net!"

A half second later, the commentator bellowed _"He shoots, he scores!"_ followed by half of the bar erupting into pandemonium.

Abbie quickly glanced at Irving, a disbelieving look on her face, then turned her attention back to Jenny and Crane and she honestly couldn't believe what she saw.

At the goal, Jenny and Crane both turned towards each other, arms spread wide and screamed at each other in elation.

Crane. Ichabod Crane. 18th century crusty, snarky, proper, reserved Ichabod Crane.

_Her Ichabod Crane._ Yelling and cheering at the top of his lungs like a drunken college kid.

She watched as Crane, in his utter enthusiasm, now wrapped his arms around Jenny and lifted her up - _lifted her up!_ \- high up the air. Abbie's mouth dropped open as she watched Jenny snake her arms around his neck and wrap her legs tight around his waist. Both of their expressions were absolutely jubilant in their celebration.

_And wait, was he...Oh my god, he was..._ With a shock, Abbie saw that Crane was excitedly bouncing up and down as he held Jenny in his arms.

With Jenny's limbs wrapped around Crane _like that_ and him moving his body _like_ _that_...it looked unbelievably sexy.

_And almost pornographic_.

Abbie had never seen Crane this uninhibited before. It was so unlike him. _So unbelievably not him._

The way he picked Jenny up and hoisted her into the air... _And Jenny, what the hell are you doing wrapping yourself around him like that?_

Abbie looked at Irving again, eyes wide, shaking her head, as though not sure what to make of this. Irvings' own eyes were narrowed and his jaw was tight in annoyance.

The two of them had never seen Crane or Jenny react or act this excitedly before...or liked how they were celebrating that excitement.

"I guess our British boy likes hockey." Irving commented dryly, though Abbie thought she caught a small tinge of jealousy in his tone.

"Apparently." Abbie made a beeline for the table, dying to know what was going on.

"Oh my god, we won!" Jenny yelled before Abbie could speak, as Crane carefully set her down. Jenny unwrapped herself from the slender Brit, and lightly banged her fists against his chest a few times in elation.

Crane caught Abbie's irritated expression and uncharacteristically winked in response, a huge satisfied grin on his face. "I have just divested these men of a considerable sum. Pay up, my good men." He declared with a smug smile, turning to the men now slumped in their chairs to his right.

The four men all rose from their chairs, almost in unison, grumbling under their breath, all wearing the most defeated expressions on their faces. All pulled out their wallets and started slapping crisp bills onto the table.

"Jesus Christ...." The short man closest to Jenny mumbled. "I want a rematch, Mills..." He grumbled as he slapped five one hundred dollar bills onto the table. "You and the British bean pole here."

"Well, maybe next time, you should listen to me and pick the right team." Jenny said smugly as the four men counted out a total of two thousand dollars in bills. Without another word, the four men shuffled towards the bar exit.

"What the hell is going on?" Abbie demanded once they were gone.

"Abbie! Oh my god, Abbie, the Canadiens just won!" Jenny declared as she clumsily hugged her sister. Abbie could now tell that Jenny was a bit drunk. "It's game 6 and the Habs were about to be kicked out of the playoffs. Ichabod and I bet that they would win. These guys thought we were crazy, so we bet big."

_So it was Ichabod now..._

"Miss Jenny made the wager quite appealing for those gentlemen. Five to one odds that the Canadiens would lose, but the Loyalists have prevailed." Crane added with a smile and slight slur. "They believed we were quite insane for betting so unwisely."

"You just fleeced those guys of two thousand bucks?" Irving asked, almost in awe.

"Indeed." Crane now picked up the wad of bills in front of him and studied the face on the $100 bill for a moment. "Hello old friend. Looks like you've not been forgotten." He whispered before shoving his $1000 into his coat pocket. He picked up a half-empty pint glass in front of him, saluted the air and chugged down the rest of the drink.

"Hey, slow down there buddy." Irving commented, his brow raised. "It's not last call."

Abbie eyes now slowly surveyed the state of the table. It was half-covered in empty pretzel bowls, beer bottles and pint glasses. She could tell that the four guys had been drinking the bottled beer. The pint glasses were solely clustered in front of Crane and Jenny.

Irving noticed it too because he snarked, "Trying to drink the bar's entire beer supply?"

"Miss Jenny and I are drinking around the globe!" Crane declared enthusiastically, waving his hand through the air with a flourish.

Abbie could tell that Crane was definitely wasted. His words were slightly muddled and he had to clutch the arm of his chair to steady himself before he dropped down into his seat.

"Thought I’d introduce Ichabod to some modern beers." Jenny said as she clumsily plopped down into her own seat. "We had Guinness from Ireland, Becks from Germany, Corona from Mexico and in honour of Ichabod's former life, Sam Adams for one of his buddies."

"Stubborn man, Adams, but always managed to brew a potent batch of ale." Crane added, slightly slurring half of his words now.

A waitress now appeared at their table. "Can I get you anything else?" She asked politely as she started to clear some of the beer bottles and empty glasses from the table.

Crane addressed Jenny. "What is the next country you wish to consume, my lady?" He asked jovially. The word consume came out as _con-shume_.

Abbie and Irving just looked at each other again, their expressions a perfect mirror to each other. Abbie knew exactly what Irving was thinking, since she was thinking the exact same thing.

_What the hell is going on here?_

The familiarity and flirty nature between her sister and Crane was throwing Abbie off. This was so unlike Crane, and so unlike her sister that she didn't know what to do with this. The physicality between the two was starting to unnerve her and Abbie wasn't entirely sure why.

"What about Moosehead?" Irving calmly suggested for the next beer. "It’s Canadian. In honour of the winning team."

"Oh my god, that's a great idea! Moosehead’s for everyone!" Jenny declared loudly as she raised her hands in the air. "Everyone gets a Moosehead!"

Looking over at Crane, Abbie watched as he put his hand over his mouth for a moment, trying to cover up the fact that he was giggling.

_Giggling._ 18th century crusty, snarky, proper, reserved Ichabod Crane. 

Giggling like he was completely stoned.

"Alright Crane. You need to explain yourself. You don't like baseball, but hockey you like?"

"My word, this game of ice and pucks and those stick things..." He started flapping his hand a little, as though trying to remember the word.

"Uh, a hockey stick?" Abbie supplied sarcastically.

"Yes! That is the term! This game is wonderful and Miss Jenny made it all the more enjoyable." He replied as he beamed at Jenny with the goofiest smile Abbie had ever seen.

"Oh my gawd Abbie, I see why you're so into him. _I love this guy._ He's crazy awesome." Jenny declared as though it were the most serious statement in the world. A moment later, she was dancing around in her seat a little before giddily blurting out "A thousand bucks, man!"

"See, Abbie? Miss Jenny thinks I am quite a _we-some_."

Abbie and Irving just stared at them like they had both gone insane.

"I don't believe this." Irving said as he shook his head. "Do you even know who those guys are?"

Jenny just shrugged nonchalantly, "I don't know. Some guys we met here."

"Some strangers you met at a bar. Nice. You know gambling in bars is illegal. And Crane, I expected that you would at least be a little less reckless than her." Frank admonished them with a sour expression on his face.

Jenny's eyebrow arched as she teased, "You're not jealous, are you Captain?" She asked with a flirty yet sly grin.

Before Irving could reply, the waitress reappeared with a tray loaded with four nearly overflowing pint glasses. She carefully set them down on the table, eyeing Jenny and Crane in amusement, then cleared the rest of the glasses away before returning to the bar.

Irving took a seat next to Jenny as Crane tugged Abbie's sleeve. He apparently wanted her to sit in the chair that was right next to him. She took the seat as she tried to hide her amusement at her drunken sister and partner.

Suddenly, Abbie felt Crane's warm breath against her ear. "Next time, I wish to celebrate with you." He whispered before leaning back in his chair and flashing a look that Abbie could only describe as... _amorous_.

_Oh god, did he mean...?_

She felt her mouth go dry. For some reason, Abbie couldn't stop herself from letting out a wide smile. She forced herself to look away, then grabbed her pint glass and held it up, trying to ignore Crane's piercing gaze. "Well, then, I guess congratulations are in order. Cheers everyone." Abbie took a long sip of her beer - it was surprisingly crisp and refreshing - as she felt Crane's warm fingers suddenly twine with the fingers of her free hand.

Once again she failed to suppress her grin. She could only imagine how the rest of the night was going to unfold...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Written as a bit of a nod and shout out to Lyndie Greenwood and Philip Iscove, both fellow Torontonians/Canadians.  
> And hockey is _the sport_ for many Canadians.
> 
> I thought up this fic a few months ago, during the NHL playoffs. Montreal defeated the Boston Bruins during round 2 of the playoffs. Boston was about to eliminate the Habs, but they made an amazing comeback and ended up winning the series. In actuality, Tukka Rask is a really good goalie. But Carey Price (Habs goalie) may be a bit better :')
> 
> Moosehead is the oldest brewery in Canada, started in 1867.  
> 1867 (July 1st) also happens to be the date of Canadian Confederation, which is when the various British and French colonies came together to form The Dominion of Canada.
> 
> The US $100 bill has the picture of Benjamin Franklin on it.
> 
> The Fox and Firkin is an actual pub chain in Canada.
> 
> Samual Adams is of course one of the founding fathers and eventual brewmaster. You can buy Samual Adams beer today in bars, but I have no idea how it tastes. ETA: AND this was written a month before Season 2, episode 3 "The Root of All Evil" aired. Telling you, I'm semi-psychic! That, or I knew the show just had to mention this beer brand!
> 
> The fic title comes from a classic song played at many Canadian hockey games -"The Hockey Game" by Saint John, New Brunswick native Stompin' Tom Connors.
> 
> Comments and kudos always adored.


	4. The Scent of a (Wo)Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Abbie summons Ichabod to a patio at a local bar. Though the intention is to have some downtime, Abbie may have a different plan in mind. Ichabod's POV. 
> 
> This fic originally was supposed to be more sweet and tame, but somehow it got a bit away from me...please enjoy.

Ichabod entered the pub and, as Abbie's text message has intimated, headed for the steps to the second floor. He had never entered this tavern before, though from time to time had spied it from the main street of Sleepy Hollow. It was an old house - early 19th century, Miss Mills had explained - that had been converted into a local tavern about ten years ago.

As Ichabod ascended the steps, he thought again of the phone message his partner had sent earlier that evening.

_Crane! I have a bottle of white wine here with your name on it. Get down here before I drink it all!_

He had smiled when he read the message, knowing how much they both needed to rest, relax and unwind.

A minute later he received another text message.

 _Squire's Head. Second floor patio. You. Here. Now_!

Patio? What was this _patio_? At least he knew where to be and once he arrived, this elusive _patio_ would reveal itself.

Reaching the top of the creaky stairs, he walked out into an open area of the second floor and realized right away it was similar to a courtyard open to the sky. In this case, the 'open courtyard' was situated on the second floor of an old house.

Ichabod had to admit, the concept of a _patio_ in a tavern was a vastly agreeable one. Taverns in his time were always dark, barely illuminated by candle or lantern and tended to be foreboding places. The floors were always dirty and stained and the tavern patrons equally as liquor stained.

He found Miss Mills seated near the railing at the front of the house, staring down to the street below. With an amused smile, he noted the empty wine bottle on the table and her half-filled glass.

"I must have dallied for too long, as you have already finished the bottle."

She turned and jumped a little at his voice, then upon seeing him, let out a bright smile. "It's okay. I ordered another one."

He took a seat opposite to her now, as a cool breeze gently wafted through the area. "Does this bottle also have my name on it?" He lightly teased.

"Both of our names." She replied with a wide grin.

Ichabod had to laugh. He could tell that his almost always serious and focused partner was a little inebriated.

"Are you wearing cologne?" She suddenly asked before he could get another word in.

"Cologne?" The only Cologne he knew of was a prominent city and cathedral on the Rhine.

"Cologne. You know, perfume for men?" Another light breeze swept through the area and she in turn inhaled a little.

"Then yes. A small bottle I found in the cabin. It was labeled _Eternity for Men_ , I believe."

"Not Corbin's." She replied with a melancholy sigh. "His was different..."

He waited for more from her, maybe a reassuring word or complimentary comment, but instead she merely closed her eyes and took another deep breath. For a second, Ichabod thought he spied a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

He had found the small bottle earlier that evening while straightening up a drawer in the bedroom. The fragrance of the liquid contained in the tiny bottle was quite appealing, so in a spontaneous moment, he had decided to dab some of this _cologne_ onto his neck and around his collar.

Ichabod was no stranger to the perfumes and unguents and powders that men of his era would sport. He clearly remembered the first - _and last_ \- time he had powdered his hair. His father had insisted that, as a man of eighteen, Ichabod should appear as a proper gentleman, powdered hair and all. He had already refused to don a wig, as his own natural hair could be curled and queued to appear acceptably in fashion.

The white powder was itchy and tended to clump and his hair felt weighted down and too stifling in the heat. No, he immediately decided, he would not appear as a proper gentlemen. Natural hair it would be, however lower class it may appear.

The second bottle of wine now appeared and Ichabod took it upon himself to fill their glasses. After already consuming an entire bottle of wine, he was worried Abbie would be a bit _unsteady_.

They clinked glasses and settled in, staring out past the railing and down to the street below, with Abbie surprisingly doing most of the talking.

Ichabod was content to just sit back and let Abbie's soothing voice put him at ease. He knew that the wine she had consumed was making her much more talkative and open than she normally would be.

She talked about a myriad of subjects; about work, some of her childhood and random experiences, but happily enough the subject of demons, the Apocalypse and their role as Witnesses was ignored.

He asked questions here and there, for clarification or in curiosity, but as he sat in the open space, under a sky coloured pitch and an invigorating breeze drifting over them, Ichabod could not help but feel that - for the first time since he has woken from his slumber - utterly contented and blissfully happy.

.......................

"I want to show you something?" Abbie suddenly blurted out as she leaned across the table towards him.

Ichabod raised an eyebrow in curiosity, a hint of amusement curling his lips. She seemed very relaxed now and Ichabod was pleased. This excursion to the tavern was just what they needed. She was also beginning to speak very rapidly; the effects of the alcohol becoming more evident.

The second bottle was empty now, followed by a chaser of rum and he himself was starting to also feel the effects. "What is it you wish to show me?"

"It's a secret." She said conspiratorially as she grabbed his hand and dragged him towards a narrow alcove near the back of the second floor patio. Once they reached it, instead of going down to the first floor, she pulled him to the right, to an even smaller area hidden near the back of the narrow passageway.

Ichabod let himself be led along, thoroughly amused at his partner's behaviour. She now pointed to a small door and whispered, "It leads to the third floor."

Ichabod had earlier noticed that the tavern house contained a small turret-like extension high up at the back of the roof. He had never seen anything so peculiar set into a house before, but speculated it was a late addition to the residence.

Its purpose though, he had absolutely no clue.

Abbie carefully looked around to ensure no one had noticed them and then opened the small closet like door, pulling Ichabod inside with her.

The area was small, slightly musty and incredibly dark and Ichabod struggled to detect any light within its hold.

"Abbie...?" he questioned.

"C'mon..." She urged, slowly dragging him up the stairs. He was amazed that she could navigate through the pitch black space, especially since she had consumed a fair amount of wine. He was worried that she would trip, so kept his one hand firmly on hers, and his other hovering at her lower back, ready to catch her if she fell.

Why had Miss Mills brought him here?

_What does she want of me?_

His stomach inadvertently tightened in anticipation over scenarios of what she _could_ want, but before he could dwell on these thoughts, Abbie pushed through the door at the top of the steps. A blast of cool night air hit and Ichabod realized that they were outside again.

He stepped out quickly and saw that they were standing in a small area resembling a half circle made of concrete. The area was around eight feet at its widest, with a waist high concrete wall encircling and enclosing the area.

 _What on earth was this place?_ Ichabod had never seen anything like this before. _A lookout tower, perhaps?_ It was strange, this circular half open area set on the third floor of an old house. From the vantage point on the street, it looked like a turret, but the hidden half of the turret was actually open and exposed towards the back of the house.

Abbie now pulled him to the edge of the wall and pointed ahead. "Check out this view, Crane. Isn't it amazing?" Her voice pitched high in uncharacteristic delight. The open area provided sweeping views of the vast city scape of Sleepy Hollow.

Abbie now stepped up onto a small concrete step that had been placed against the wall. Even standing on a small stone, she was still an inch or two shorter than he.

"Hellooooo...." she yelled out, as she grabbed the ledge and leaned almost completely over the wall.

Ichabod left arm whipped out and caught her around the waist, pulling her back into his chest. "Miss Mills, please, you must be careful!" He admonished her, absolutely horrified.

He slipped his other arm around her waist to hold her steady as she just giggled in reply.

Ichabod just shook his head. He adjusted his grip around her tiny waist and pulled her tighter against his body, ensuring that Abbie was secure. He expecting her to push him away or struggle out of his arms, but Abbie just let out a long sigh.

_My word, the way I am holding her..._

Ichabod knew this was wildly intimate and totally inappropriate but he knew she had consumed too much wine. He would rather face the consequences of his behaviour tomorrow than have his fate-entwined partner go tumbling over the ledge to the ground three stories below, merely due to _propriety._

"See that dark area over there?" She now pointed ahead to a long darkened area, set in the middle of a swathe of twinkling lights that illuminated the city; a black snake winding within a blanket of jewels.

"I do." He replied, moving his head next to hers so he could peer into the distance. He was so close, her cheek brushed gently against his, causing a small tingle to run through his spine.

"That's the river. And see that small round area to the right?" she drawled.

"Yes."

"That's the cabin. That's where you live."

He could feel her beaming smile against his cheek. "So what is this place?" he asked, indicating where they stood.

"Old astronomy tower. The guy who used to own this house loved star gazing. He built this crazy addition so he had somewhere to put his telescope. It used to be closed in but the guys who bought the bar knocked out part of the walls to get a good view."

Abbie now tilted her head up a little, which pushed her body back into his own. He tried not to think about the feeling of her warm form against him. Instead, he adjusted his grip on her, ensuring that she was secure. "See" she said as she indicated the sky. "Stars."

He also looked up to see a few bare twinkling dots in the sky. It was nothing like the skies he remembered in his era. The numerous false lights from street lamps and houses and cars and tall buildings dimmed out almost all of the beautiful vast dome above. The wash of stars that painted the night sky in a swirl of brilliant colour had been rendered muted and sparse.

"It's lovely" He replied instead, wanting to ensure he did not dim the enthusiasm of his partner.

They stood in silence for another ten minutes, just gazing out over the city and enjoying the view. Ichabod continued to hold Abbie tight in his arms, allowing her to rest against his chest.

Every once in a while she would shift a little or nestle closer to him.

Ichabod could not suppress his contented sigh.

................

Abbie twisted around in his arms to directly face him and plopped her arms onto his shoulders. She was almost eye-level to him now, and Ichabod was amazed at how different she looked to him. He was so used to looking down towards her, her features always at an angle, thick dark eyelashes slightly obscuring her eyes, her bottom lip barely visible, hair framing around her cheeks.

Now her features were beautifully clear to him.

His hands had not moved from her waist, his fingers spread wide over her skin; he was still determined not to let her out of his grasp.

To his surprise, she leaned forward and rested her head against his shoulder as though a wave of exhaustion had suddenly hit her. "Mmm... You smell nice...like _really nice_." she said as she lightly nuzzled his neck.

Ichabod's eyes went wide. _Oh my, she must be quite inebriated now,_ he thought with a bit of a jolt. He swallowed hard and felt the tip of her nose and lips trail along his collarbone. It was as though she could not get enough of his scent.

She now pulled back and locked eyes with his, a small inviting smile on her face. "You know, you're actually kinda cute." She said, cocking her head as she studied his features.

His eyes widened even more and he struggled to hold back a grin. "I am not sure the goal of a modern man is to appear _cute_." He tried to ensure his tone was a bit teasing yet slightly offended.

"What about hot?" She challenged, her brow quirking slightly.

He bit his lip. "I think men would prefer the term handsome, though I would not personally know."

"Mmmm..." Her reply came out as a non-committal moan, deep and throaty.

Ichabod took a deep breath and swallowed hard, feeling suddenly on alert. He assumed the alcohol was playing a significant part in her actions. He could not reconcile this flirty seductive Abbie with the usual sober serious one.

But there was something so devious in her expression right now. Abbie smiled at him again, then pointed up at the sky, "So what's that star?" her expression was complete innocence.

He looked up towards the direction she indicated and as his eyes tried to find the twinkling point of light, he felt her lips brush lightly against his neck, her tongue running along the skin, tracing light patterns, while her fingers gently stroked the hair along his cheek.

"God, you really, _really_ smell good." She gently nipped at his jaw as he took a deep breath, closing his eyes as he did.

The touch of her lips felt indescribable and Ichabod struggled to maintain his senses. He pulled slightly away from her, though his hands were still set firmly around her waist. "Abbie, you are a little drunk." he pointed out, trying to control his emotions and lusty feelings.

"Not that drunk. I can hold my liquor much better than you think." She replied with a wink.

 _This did seem true_ , he thought. Though quite giddy, she still seemed able to speak articulately, though her focus on his scent was quiet unusual...

Then it suddenly dawned on him. He pulled further away from her, intently studying her expression. "Did you place that cologne bottle in the cabin drawer?"

She couldn't hold back her grin. "Okay, I confess. I just really like that cologne and wanted to see how it would work on you." She bit her own lip in her amusement. "I was right. You smell amazing." She sighed deeply.

Abbie's fingers started toying with the collar of his shirt, her fingers moving under the fabric and brushing against his bare skin. "You told me I needed to relax."

Ichabod paused for a moment in disbelief. "I did not know this was how you wished to relax."

Her bottom lip jutted out a little, "I guess you're not _amenable_ to some _relaxation_..." She looked away, pretending to be hurt by his response. Her lush mouth curled into the most seductive pout Ichabod had ever seen.

His jaw just about dropped to the ground. She was using his _own words_ to try to seduce him. "I did not say that...." He trailed off, his body betraying him and moving closer to hers. It was as though his limbs suddenly had a mind of their own.

Ichabod slid his hands around her back and mimicking her earlier actions, moved his lips to her own neck. She tilted her head to the side, allowing him full access as he kissed her gently. Her own perfume was floral yet heady. This was her familiar scent, one he relished, and yet at this moment, her alluring fragrance seemed to render him absolutely weak. He felt enthralled and intoxicated and was suddenly unable to hold back. He increased the pressure of his mouth, kissed her neck hard now, biting and sucking at the delicate warm soft skin as though he could not get enough.

"… _please...don't stop..._ " she pleaded in ecstasy, breathing heavily now as her fists clutched and pulled at his shirt.

He moved up now to her mouth, capturing her lips with his, tongue dancing, mouth fervent with desire. His fingers slipped into the nape of her neck and he kissed her even harder, unable to control himself. He was sure her lips - and his - would be swollen tomorrow from his intimate yet aggressive actions.

 _Ichabod, you must behave a gentleman,_ his mind sternly admonished.

Releasing his grip on her waist, he pulled away and took a step back, his eyes wide, chest rising and falling rapidly.

_You must behave a gentleman..._

Ichabod could barely raise his eyes to hers for fear of pouncing, but once he did, she tweaked her brow, ever so slightly, ever so invitingly. She stepped off of the small platform and took the few steps to the door. Flipping the deadbolt, she spun back around and once again, flashed him a sensuous smile. "It's locked now. No one will bother us."

Abbie moved back to stand in front of him and slowly running her hands against his chest, gently slid his coat from his shoulders. Before it was able to pool onto the ground, she grabbed it and carefully spread it out over the hard ground at their feet.

Just as a blanket would be.

Ichabod glanced down at his coat, then back up to Abbie, then back down to his coat, openly spread and utterly inviting.

Just like a blanket.

_Just like a woman..._

The message was clear, of that he had no doubt. She wanted him.

 _Right here, right now_.

On the ground. In the open air. In the dead of night.

Without another word, Abbie moved over to take a seat upon his coat. She leaned back, resting on her palms while propping up one knee. Tilting her head back, she shook her head slightly, which caused her hair to cascade behind her, exposing her delicate neck. She took a deliberate deep breath, her posture highlighting the swell of her chest and Ichabod found he could not properly breathe. Her movements were so erotic and sensual and seductive and he suddenly felt drunk and overwhelmed with wanton desire.

"So...?" She patted the spot next to her. "Are you going to help me relax?"

_Well now. The lady hath spoken._

And he _was_ a gentleman, after all.

Who was _he_ to deny a lady the _relaxation_ that she so desperately required....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The word _patio_ and _cologne_ didn't get their current meaning until the early 19th century.  
>  The word Cologne came from the German city of Köln, and essentially meant "toilet water", which was eventually inbued with a fragrance. Patio meant inner courtyard in Spanish.
> 
> Also, I'm sure everyone will agree - the right perfume/cologne on the right person is absolutely heavenly.
> 
> This really was to be a more platonic story but hey, the fingers type what the fingers type!
> 
> Comment and kudos loved and appreciated.


	5. The Ring of Fakery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goofy little one-shot employing some standard tropes and possibly semi-OOC Crane and Mills. So sorry....

It was late on Thursday night and Abbie glanced quickly at her watch again, irritated that she was running so late. Parking had been difficult to find and she spent ten minutes circling around the block looking for a decent spot.

Abbie knew Crane would be patiently waiting inside with no complaint, but she still hated being late. The paperwork she had to finish took longer than she thought, even after she had already called Crane over an hour ago to tell him she was running late.

She entered the Queen's Arms and quickly scanned the room, expecting to spot Crane's tall form immediately. The place was reasonably crowded, but Abbie still expected to quickly spot his distinctive self with ease.

"Abbie!" Lucy Johnson, the tavern's owner, was hurrying towards her, a wide grin on her face.

"Lucy! How are you?" The two women gave each other a warm hug, and Lucy motioned for Abbie to slide into the empty booth that happened to have a "Reserved" sign set on the tabletop.

Abbie knew right away, the booth had been reserved for her and Crane. Whenever they could, she and Crane would drop by just to unwind from demon fighting and apocalyptic reality and to try to imitate a normal life. Since Crane had already been in the bar for more than an hour, Abbie figured that Lucy must have ensured a booth would be free for when she arrived.

God she loved Lucy. _Loved her to death_. Lucy was in her late forties, full of life, a great sense of humour and Abbie's former high school history teacher. Like Abbie, she was tiny in stature but possessed a formidable presence. She had married a prominent banker in her late twenties and moved to Manhattan. After ten years of marriage, she caught her husband cheating on her with a 19 year old college student. Lucy - never a shrinking violet - immediately filed for divorced, negotiated a nice healthy settlement and moved back to Sleepy Hollow.

In a leap of faith, Lucy decided to buy a rundown bar and remodeled it to resemble the old English pubs from Victorian times.

It was here that Abbie had wandered in after a particularly messed up day and reconnected with her old quirky teacher. Crane had been with her also, and Lucy immediately fell for Crane's quirky looks and English charm. Lucy and Crane had hit it off immediately and Abbie knew that Crane thoroughly enjoying spending time at the bar, enjoying a pint and just chatting with Lucy about nothing and everything.

Crane had even admitted to Abbie that Lucy reminded him of an old eccentric aunt of his, who had introduced the young and curious Ichabod to the wonders and marvels of the written word. At times, interacting with Lucy seemed to give Crane a feeling of home, family and a sense of peace.

"Where have you been?" Lucy chastised Abbie in a low voice as she slid into the booth next to Abbie. If anything, Lucy loved her drama.

"What do you mean?"

Lucy pointed to the far left of the mahogany bar, towards two women who were standing next to each other. The shorter one shifted a little as she stood, and Abbie now spied Crane seated next to them, smiling politely as they engaged him in conversation. The taller woman was lightly running her hand up and down his sleeve, trying to seem flirty and seductive while the shorter one kept flipping her hair back over her shoulder.

"Your boy needs help. See those two? They have been trying to pick him up for the last hour and are being relentless. They think he's some crazy _artiste_ or something."

"Where the hell did they get that idea from?"

"I may have inadvertently told them that." She replied sheepishly, avoiding Abbie's eyes.

"Lucy!"

"Yeah well, I was trying to help. You know, the beard, the long hair. I figured poor starving artist would throw them off the prowl, you know?" She just shrugged her shoulders. "It just made it worse. They’re totally infatuated with him. I think they're trying to get him wasted too because they keep buying him drinks. They're half drunk and managed to get your boy semi sloshed too."

To Abbie's great amusement, whenever Lucy referred to Crane in Abbie's presence, she almost always called him _your boy_.

Abbie now rolled her eyes. "Why didn't he just tell them he's married?"

" _He has_. Several times. But they either don't believe him or don't want to hear it." Lucy let out a long sigh. "He even shifted that ring of his to his left hand, but these women..." She shook her head in annoyance. "I can't tell you how many times I've had to wipe drool off of my bar top."

Abbie inadvertently let out a loud laugh, immediately drawing Crane's attention to her. He flashed an uncharacteristically goofy smile and wave and to Abbie's amusement, she could tell by his demeanour that yeah, he most likely had one too many.

The two ladies followed the direction of his wave and turned their attention towards her and Lucy. The taller brunette now gave a half-hearted wave towards the booth while the short blonde's mouth curled into a bright smile. It took a second, but they seemed to recognize Abbie.

"Oh no..." Abbie groaned. "Oh god. Not them."

"What? Who? _Them_?" Lucy asked. "You know them?"

"Yeah, I know them. High school friends, if you could even call them that. Classmates. You know the stereotypical cheerleader popular girl you see in the movies. That's them."

Abbie shook her head now as she watched Crane stand up, clutching the edge of the bar as he did. She could tell he was trying to politely extract himself from their presence. "The tall one is Cindy, the shorter one Mindy." she added.

"Rhyming names, huh? Typical.' Lucy rolled her eyes in disgust.

Abbie could only shrug her shoulders as she watched the two ladies struggle between feeling obligated to come over to speak to Abbie, or attempting to keep Crane corralled at the bar and continue their seduction attempts.

Lucy could tell this too, because she suddenly blurted out "I have an idea!" She jumped up from her seat and grabbing Abbie's right arm, pulling her along.

"What are you doing, Lucy?"

"I've got a plan!" She said giddily, dragging Abbie over towards Crane and the two ladies.

"ABIGAIL MILLS!" The two women shrieked once Abbie reached them. "Oh my god, lady! You look wonderful!"

Abbie greeted both ladies with a smile. "Thanks. You guys look great too." Abbie was never one for wild displays of girly enthusiasm and was having a hard time fighting the urge to roll her eyes. She glanced over towards Crane and saw that Lucy had quickly pulled him to the far end of the bar and was whispering something covertly into his ear, a devious look on her face.

Abbie grimaced. _This was not going to end well._

Crane looked like he was intently concentrating to Lucy's every word. At one point, Abbie thought she saw Lucy slip something into his coat pocket.

 _This was_ so _not going to end well._

Suddenly, Crane left Lucy's side and approached Abbie, a big smile on his face. "My darling! Oh how I've missed you!"

He moved to within a half of foot of Abbie and grasping her arms in the guise of bending down to give her a chaste kiss on the cheek in greeting.

_Dammit, Lucy. I don't know what you told him but I'm going to kill you._

As Crane bent down, he hesitated for a mere fraction of a second, and Abbie assumed that -though he was seemingly buzzed - he was hesitant to even kiss her on the cheek.

Instead, he tilting his head and planted a long lingering kiss on the mouth.

 _Oh my god, he's drunk!_ She tried desperately not to respond, yet her own lips betrayed her, parting just a little in response.

Her eyes widened as she suddenly felt his tongue slip between her lips and she was shocked. He tasted wonderful - of brandy and wine and something so erotic she almost couldn't think.

_Goddammit, am I drunk?_

He pulled away now and moved so that he was standing behind Abbie, hands still on her shoulders, massaging a bit. His warm and strong hands felt heavenly. "Ladies, my dearest one." He slurred a little as he spoke. "This is my beautiful bride...uh..Abbie."

Abbie tried to hide the irritation in her face, but her eyes shot daggers towards Lucy, who in turn was covering her mouth with her hand, trying to suppress her laughter.

 _Woman, I am going to kill you_ , Abbie vowed to herself, her lips pursed in slight anger.

Cindy and Mindy's mouth's just dropped open. "You're married to _him_?"

"I did intim... _intimay._..say that I am married, yes?" Apparently Crane was having problems with pronouncing some words. "This is my beloved."

"Wow Abbie, congratulations."

Abbie could tell that both of the women were absolutely mortified but also seemed a bit jealous. Abbie knew their embarrassment came from the fact that they had essentially been flirting with and trying to pick up her so-called 'husband'.

The jealously, though? Abbie couldn't help feel a bit of smugness at their reactions.

"But you're not wearing a wedding ring?" Mindy blurted out as she pointed to Abbie hand. She seemed a bit drunk too.

"Oh, I completely forgot!" Crane pulled out a thin diamond platinum eternity band from his pocket and Abbie recognized it as Lucy's ring right away. This must have been what Lucy had slid into his coat pocket. "You left this at our home, darling."

Stepping around to face her, Crane took Abbie's hand in his. It took two attempts, but he managed to slide the ring on Abbie's third finger. Clumsily, he kissed the top of her hand before flashing Abbie an amused smirk.

Abbie gritted her teeth, fighting the urge to smack the drunken smirk off of his face.

The two woman stared at Abbie's hand for a moment before Cindy piped up "Abbie, oh my god, we’re so sorry, we didn't know."

"It's okay." Abbie smiled, trying not to laugh at the expressions the two ladies wore. The two women looked genuinely afraid of what Abbie's reaction was going to be. "He gets that all the time." she added, not untruthfully.

The reality was that Crane was a tall and handsome guy. This wasn't the first time Abbie found him being accosted by woman at a bar, trying to pick him up and take him home or have their way with him at the back of the bar. He always seemed to take it in stride though, merely commenting on the interesting differences in the 21st century.

Abbie now spotted Lucy gesticulating wildly, trying to get them to come over to her side.

"Well, looks like we're being summoned by the bartender. Close friend we're meeting. Sorry to have to go."

"Oh, of course!" Cindy flashed another big smile. "It was wonderful to see you again. We have to get together soon!" She gave Abbie two quick pecks on the cheek and then addressed Crane, a hint of embarrassment in her expression, "Nice to meet you too."

"A pleasure."

"Your husband seems like something really special." Mindy whispered in Abbie's ear. "I'm _so_ jealous."

"Oh, he's something all right." Abbie replied dryly, blinking rapidly as she forced a smile.

The two women stumbled towards the exit as Lucy now approached them.

"So, how's the happy couple?" Lucy cackled, barely able to contain her laughter. She immediately poured each of them a large glass of wine in penance.

"How could you do that?" Abbie pulled the diamond band off of her finger and handed it back to Lucy.

"Oh, c'mon. It's all in fun. Besides, did you see the looks on their faces? When they found out Ichabod was your husband! I wish I'd taken a picture." At Abbie's exasperated expression, Lucy added, 'Look, I just wanted to help your boy out. The flirting was starting to become obnoxious and kind of pathetic."

Eyes narrowed, Abbie turned to her partner, who had reseated himself on the stool and was casually leaning against the bar. "Crane…?" Her tone was stern and admonishing.

His entire body snapped to rigid attention and he held his hands up in surrender. "It is true. Highly obnoxious."

"Fine.” Abbie sighed, trying to suppress her grin. “You're forgiven. _This time_.”

"Shall we take our usual table?" He now asked, slowly rising from his seat. Abbie could see that his demeanour had relaxed a little as he assumed he had been forgiven.

Abbie let out another long sigh. "Okay, let's go." Before Abbie could follow, Lucy grabbed her arm to hold her back. "So...is your boy a good kisser?"

For the life of her, Abbie could _not_ hold back her beaming, radiant smile....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Again, not my most creative or unique but I just wanted to close this out before the new season started.  
> Still hope you enjoyed. Comments and Kudos appreciated.


	6. The Challenge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After meeting up at a local bar and club, Hawley issues Crane a challenge that Crane cannot refuse. Mostly from Nick's POV, then a bit from Abbie's. Lots of swearing from Nick, because I truly believe he would tend to pepper his speech that way (bah network censorship).
> 
> Mannymd90 issued me a bit of a challenge in the comments, and I got a bit inspired so now there are six stories and maybe more, depending on if I get nicely inspired.
> 
> I love the banter and snark and irritated looks between Nick Hawley and Ichabod Crane, so this came to mind! Please enjoy!

**The Challenge**

Nick Hawley took a sip of his Black and Tan before casually throwing the crappy dart at the ragged board five feet ahead of him. It hit close to the number 20, which was exactly the amount of minutes he had been waiting for Abbie Mills to arrive.

He checked his watch again and sighed. He had arranged to meet with Abbie specifically, to talk about some weird pendant that was engraved with some ancient demonic symbol that Abbie seemed particularly interested in. In reality, he was hoping to spend some quality alone time with the lovely young police lieutenant, getting to know her and hopefully working his charm on her. He had picked the bar-slash-club location specifically, in the assumption that her overprotective English shadow wouldn't want to accompany her to such an illicit place.

So when he turned to grab his pint glass that sat on the small wooden ledge to his left, he was irritated to have almost collided with that ever-present shadow named Ichabod Crane.

"What are you doing here?" Nick sighed deeply as he sidestepped Crane and grabbed his beer.

Crane clasped his hands behind his back while straightening up even more, as though trying to appear taller than Nick, even though they were the same height. _Did this guy have a bar of metal embedded in his back? How can anyone stand so straight and rigid?_ It made his shoulders and back ache just looking at Crane's posture.

The Brit now narrowed his eyes, obviously as irritated with Nick as Nick currently was with him. "It seems that Lieutenant Mills has been delayed at her place of employ. She will be along within the hour or so."

"Yeah, well, I don't have all night." Nick groused as he threw another dart haphazardly towards the board, beer still in his left hand. He could feel Crane's piercing gaze at the back of his head and this irritated him even more.

"Are you playing Arrows?" Crane now asked, a hint of genuine curiosity in his voice.

"Arrows? What? What the hell is arrows?" Nick quickly drained the last of his beer. "I'm playing darts." At the slightly confused look on Crane's face - even though Nick could see Crane was trying to hide it - Nick added, "What, you've never played darts before?"

Crane took a step forward and peered at the board. "Arrows involves throwing small sharpened arrows at a wooden board. I used to play this in my regiment, though our target was the end of old wine barrels." Crane explained. "And never with arrows quite so small. I assume darts is the equivalent."

 _Wine barrels? Regiment? The fuck?_ Who the hell threw arrows at a wine barrel? Who talked about being in the military that way? Nick just stared at Crane like he was insane. Which the more Nick interacted with this guy, the more likely the Brit probably was.

A pretty blonde haired waitress now sashayed towards Nick and placed an almost overflowing pint of dark beer on the ledge, her lips curled into an inviting smile. "Can I get you anything else?" She asked, her voice low and seductive. She had picked up the empty glass and was fingering it almost sensually.

Nick flashed a sexy smile in response. "Another Black and Tan for myself, please." He said, as he handed over the full pint glass to a surprised Crane, who muttered something that sounded like _much obliged_.

If anything, Nick sure as hell wasn't going to look like as a cheap jerk in front of the gorgeous waitress by not getting Crane a drink.

She smiled again, then said flirtatiously, "I'll be right back. Don't forget about me."

Nick grinned, "I definitely won't."

The waitress turned and gave a polite nod to Crane before heading back to the bar, and Nick now realized that the Brit was sneering at him.

"Is this how modern-day courtship unfolds?"

 _Modern-day courtship? The hell?_ He smirked at Crane. "I guarantee you she's not looking for 'courtship', Heathcliff. Drink your beer."

Crane picked up the glass and eyed it carefully. "This is quite a dark coloured hue."

"Of course it's dark, it's half Guinness. What, you've never had a Black and Tan before?" Nick was incredulous. How on earth does an English guy not know what a Black and Tan was?

Scratch that, how on earth did a man from England never have a Black and Tan before _and_ not know about the game of darts? Both were English staples! When the hell did this guy grow up, the middle ages?

Before Nick could continue his internal ranting, the waitress reappeared to deliver Nick's pint. As she did, a tall well-built guy in ripped jeans, tight t-shirt, leather jacket and motorcycle helmet in hand walked by, and her eyes quickly flittered over to him. With a smile, she casually bade the two goodbye, took a few paces towards the bar, then abruptly turned and beelined straight towards the guy.

Nick just laughed to himself, shaking his head in mock defeat. "Chicks always want the bad boys."

"Bad boys? Really." Crane drawled in reply.

Nick quickly threw another dart at the board under Crane's watchful eye. "You know, bad boys? Guys who wear leather, ride bikes, have tattoos, act tough. Girls love 'em."

"Yes, I know what a 'bad boy' is, thank you very much." Crane's jaw tightened in annoyance. "To imply that a lady would prefer a scoundrel to a gentleman is utterly appalling and insulting to womenfolk."

Nick simply rolled his eyes. "You seriously think that women would rather hook up with a nice guy, as opposed to a _scoundrel,_ as you call it?"

"I most certainly do." Crane's chin tilted up a little in an authoritative and arrogant manner. "Women desire chivalry, respect and kindness."

Nick studied Crane carefully once again, fully registering the Brits' unusual appearance. Long hair wasn't weird on guys, but the way Crane wore his was. Nick had never seen a guy with his hair pulled back into a half-ponytail at the crown, like Crane's was. His coat screamed trendy, but unlike the meticulously pristine hipsters of the day, the coat material was in somewhat rough ragged shape. The crisscross ties on Crane's shirt reminded Nick of vintage hippie wear but his boots were full on old school military.

And the verbiage and attitude? Seriously, where _did_ this guy grow up? Was there some lost colony in England that hadn't had contact with the modern world for a couple hundred years? Was Crane like one of those Mennonites or Quakers that isolated himself from society, only to emerge into the modern world after decades of isolation?

Because other than that, Nick had no explanation. This guy's way of speaking was totally messed up. Half of the modern words and slang used around him, he didn't seem to get. On top of that, Nick had never heard anyone speak so formal and sound so antiquated before in his life.

Nick had to laugh in spite of himself. If one were to mix Shakespeare, colonial soldier, sixties hippie and modern hipster, then add a dash of Jesus, Ichabod Crane would be the result.

And the dude actually seriously thought that woman would rather hook up with a nice guy? Nick inwardly snorted. _Good luck with that thought, buddy._

Nick was about to throw another dart when an idea flashed in his head. "Alright, Mr. Darcy, prove it?"

"Excuse me?" Crane narrowed his eyes a bit, as though slightly confused.

 _Don't tell me it’s because he doesn't know who book Darcy was?_ Nick sighed. _The hell? What is_ with _this guy?_ Nick turned to fully face the Brit. Since they were the same height, he could glare at the Brit directly. "Let's have a little challenge, Shakespeare."

Crane eyebrow quirked, his curiosity clearly peaked. "And what is your proposed challenge?"

"You think you can pick up a woman in a bar by being a nice guy. I think that they prefer the bad boy type. So prove it to me. I tell you which woman to try to pick up, you go over there and get her phone number. _If_ you get her number, I'll buy you a drink. Same with me. You tell me whose number to get, and _when_ I do," Nick made sure to emphasize the _when,"_ you get to buy _me_ a drink. Deal?"

Crane once again studied Nick with that steely intensity that Nick found off putting. He was sure English boy wouldn't take the challenge, but after about ten seconds, the corners of Crane's mouth curled into a smug smile and he held out his large paw.

Nick took the proffered English paw and forcefully shook it.

"Challenge accepted." Crane declared. "We have an accord."

Nick rolled his eyes over the use of the word 'accord', but it didn't matter. It would be a miracle if Crane managed to pick up even one woman in this bar. Not that his physical appearance was off putting. Nick was sure that some woman out there would probably find Hippy Jesus attractive.

But the fact was, most of the people here probably wouldn't even have a clue what he was trying to say, what with his antiquated speech and old fashioned mannerisms. In fact, they'd probably be weirded out by it.

Nick grinned to himself, almost in glee. _This_ was going to be fun. Not only did he get to watch Crane crash and burn, he was gonna get elegantly wasted tonight, all on the crazy Brit's dime.

................

Nick and Crane headed over to the far end of the long brass trimmed bar, where the dark mahogany bar top curved towards the back corner of the large room, near the entrance to the dungy kitchen. It was an ideal location; offering full and open views of the rest of the bar and dance floor. There was only room for two stools at the side, both of which were currently unoccupied.

It was the perfect place to scope out their targets.

Both men took their seats. The place was starting to become quite filled, but most of the patrons seemed to cluster around the plush leather couches and darkened nooks that surrounding the large dance floor. The music was pumping, the dance floor was almost packed and Nick could see that there were a lot of beautiful woman wandering around.

By the time Abbie arrived later tonight, Crane would already have bought him his third or fourth drink. Then, in his relaxed state, he could further impress the beautiful police lady.

"By the way, Crane, I get first pick." he declared, all while thinking smugly to himself, _this_ _bet is gonna to be a breeze._

Nick surveyed the room quickly, his eyes settling on a particular lovely woman dressed in a expensive looking form fitting red dress. The designer label outfit was paired with matching stiletto heels. Her arms were set with gold bangles and long gold earrings delicately dangled from her lobes. A short muscle bound guy was in the process of trying to pick her up and was failing spectacularly. The woman could barely hold back her disgust and boredom with the guy. Her eyes were darting everywhere and anywhere but him, all while rolling her eyes at his words. Her two friends - dressed equally as finely - were huddled together a few feet from her, giggling and whispering the entire time.

There was absolutely no way Crane would get this one. She was too perfect, too upscale, too upper class.

"Alright, that one right over there. In the red dress with the long dark hair." Nick covertly pointed towards the woman.

Crane stared at the lady for a moment. "The elegant one?" he asked.

"Yeah, the elegant one." _She's so out of your league dude_ , _it's not even funny,_ Nick thought with absolute relish. "Go get her, tiger." He had already decided that his first drink would be a whiskey on the rocks.

Crane rose from his seat and calmly yet confidently headed towards the woman. As Crane neared, the woman's two friends started whispering to each other even more animatedly while looking at Crane with wide eyes and _oh my god_ smiles.

 _This'll be over in thirty seconds_ , Nick thought smugly as he took a long pull from his pint glass.

He watched in amusement as Crane seemed to introduce himself to the other guy, then gave a slightly formal yet chivalrous bow to the woman in red. She smiled politely, but also seemed a bit guarded. Crane now turned to the muscle man and said a few words to him. The man seemed to grumble something in reply, then walked off in a huff, clearly defeated. Crane now once again bowed and began to engage the woman in friendly conversation.

_The hell?_

Nick glared in disbelief as Crane continued chatting up the woman, who was now giving him her full attention. The eyes on her friends grew even wider. At one point, she flicked her long dark hair back over her shoulder and slowly stroked the side of her neck and earlobe with her hand, in a clear come hither gesture.

 _Oh my god. The Brit was doing it. He was going to get this woman's number._ _You've got to be kidding me?_ Nick was in utter disbelief. _This crazy bastard is actually going get her number._

Her two friends now hesitantly approached their friend and one pointed to her watch. It seemed they had to leave the bar. Nick watched as the lady in red reached into her slender clutch and pulled out a business card. She handed it over to Crane in a flirtatious flourish, as he flashed her a winning smile. As delicately as possible, he carefully took the woman's hand in his own and gently kissed the top of her palm. She giggled again while her two friends stood by, absolutely slack-mouthed. Crane now turned towards them and presented another chivalrous yet elegant bow. Like a gentleman, he waited for them to exit the establishment before heading back towards the bar.

Three feet from Nick, Crane held up his hand, his index and middle fingers clasping the business card. "I believe this would be her name and telephone number." Crane declared with a huge arrogant smirk, as he set the small piece of paper down next to Nick's almost empty pint glass. "And I believe that I wish to partake in a brandy neat."

"What the hell did you say to her?" Nick was almost in awe.

"Oh...I cannot divulge my secrets." Crane replied smugly. "That would give you an additional advantage and level the playing field, and I cannot risk that." The Brit took his seat at the bar and motioned the bartender over. "Good sir, a brandy neat, if you would so oblige. Courtesy of this gentleman here."

The bartender nodded in amusement and went to prepare the drink.

 _Did you just insult me? Okay, dude, this was war._ This bloody Brit was not going to get the better of him. The bartender now delivered the brandy to Crane, who took a lingering sip, clearly savouring the drink. "Ah, quite lovely, I must profess."

"You were lucky, Shakespeare." Nick's tone was sour.

"Oh, luck has nothing to do with it." Crane replied with the utmost confidence. He switched back to his half empty beer and took a long drink before saying, "I believe it is my turn to select the next lady, is it not?"

Sitting back and leaning his elbows against the bar, Nick merely grumbled in annoyance. "Just pick someone already."

Folding his arms across his chest in irritation while glaring at Crane, Nick watched as the Brit carefully surveyed the crowd. After a minute, Crane's gaze settled on one person. "There. That lady right there." Crane used his chin to indicate the direction of the woman in question. "She is wearing what appears to be quite form fitting black leather trousers, a black leather vest and is sporting unusually silver blonde hair."

Nick eyes followed the direction Crane indicated. After spotting the woman, Nick clenched his jaw and shook his head in irritation. _You_ c _heeky fucking bastard._

The woman Crane picked was exactly the type that one would assume would prefer the leather clad, tattoo covered Hell's Angel 'bad boy'.

Nick narrowed his eyes. There was no way the crazy Brit would win. Nick was determined not to go down without a fight.

...............................

It didn't help that the three shots and two beers he had consumed were starting to hit him now. He was starting to feel a little bit drunk.

Crane seemed to be too, because he used his narrow shoulder to knock Nick's own a couple of times before saying. "You will not best me."

Nick now caught a glance at the only woman who had earlier politely declined his advance. "Give me your coat?"

"What? Why on earth do you require my coat?"

"I'm going to prove it's the coat that's getting you the numbers, not you."

"My coat? Are you implying that my prowess in obtaining telephone numbers is solely due to my frockcoat? You must surely be inebriated."

"That's exactly what's I'm saying, Heathcliff. No way you're that charming."

"I humbly beg to differ." Crane leaned back against the bar and finished his drink. "It is as I said earlier. Women prefer chivalry, respect and kindness."

"Yeah, well, I'm once again going to prove you wrong. The same lady that turned me down before. I'm gonna to try again, but this time, I'm going to be wearing your coat. So hand it over."

Nick glared impatiently at Crane. He didn't say a word, instead simply rose from his seat and slipped the coat off of his shoulders. Crane's mouth curled into a knowing smile and his eyebrow arched before he handed Nick the coat.

"As you wish."

**.................**

The 'coat experiment' worked. He got the woman's number. Nick was now one up on Crane, and was confident that the Brit would lose this 'accord'.

As he surveyed the room, Nick's eyes settled on a couple leaning against one of the large couches. He felt himself inwardly grin. This was perfect. He was going to make Crane try to pick up a woman, with the woman's boyfriend standing right there.

"Found one." He said. "That woman over there. Who just happens to be with her _boyfriend_. Think you can do it?" Nick challenged.

"Hmm..."

Nick smirked to himself as he watched Crane cock his head a little as he studied the pair, stroking the hair on his chin as he did. He was taking a long time too, almost five minutes before Nick started to get impatient.

"You're hesitating, Darcy. Not up to the challenge anymore? Ready to admit you lost?"

"No, no..." Crane trailed off as though deep in thought. "Just studying the interactions and determining the best tactics." The Brit stood up now and pulled his shirt hem completely out of his trousers. Reaching behind his head with both hands, he quickly undid the leather strap that held his ponytail. He shook his head a little to loosen the hair, then ran his fingers carefully through to smooth his long tresses.

"What on earth are you doing?" Nick said. With Crane's hair hanging loose and framing his face, he looked even more like Hippy Jesus.

"Adopting the proper strategy." Crane replied as he tilted his chin up, a new determination in his voice and demeanour. "I will return shortly." The Brit now headed over to the couple.

 _Oh, this should be fun._ Nick grinned to himself, waiting for the show to begin.

..........................

A couple of minutes later, Nick's attention was fully on Crane's so-called pickup manoeuvers, when he suddenly sensed someone standing next to him. He turned to see Abbie Mills grinning at him in amusement.

"Hey Hawley.”

"Abbie. Nice to see you finally arrive." Nick grinned at the lovely lieutenant and indicated for her to take a seat. “I can only take so much of your English friend.”

"Speaking of Crane, do you know where he is?" she asked as she quickly scanned the room.

"Over there." Nick pointed towards the dance floor.

"And how on earth did you get Crane's coat?" She looked a little confused right now, as though not sure what she had walked into.

"Well, we might have a little wager going on." At her raised eyebrow, Nick detailed the bet he and the Brit had made, the reasons for it, why he had Crane's coat, and even confessed to Abbie that one of the numbers he managed to get was actually intended for the Brit himself.

"And nice guy versus bad boy?" Abbie asked with a grin.

"Duh. Nice guy always. But I sure as hell ain't going to admit _that_ to him." Nick now let out a huge sigh of exasperation as he flicked his hand towards Crane again. "I don’t believe this? Look at this guy?"

Abbie turned her attention back towards Crane. The woman whom Crane was talking with was currently running her fingers gently through the hair at his temple. She smiled brightly, then brushed a stray strand away from his cheek and tucked it behind his ear. Crane was just beaming down at her, while the woman's boyfriend was silently watching, arms folded across his chest.

"Your pal is unreal. He's got a woman playing with his hair, while her boyfriend watches.” Nick grimaced. “Dammit, he's going to get another number…”

Abbie just laughed at Nick irritated tone and pinched expression. "I guess that means I should go get him before the boyfriend tries to punch him out."

............................

Abbie headed over to where her partner was chatting with the young couple. As she approached, she watched as the guy patted Crane's shoulder and then handed over a small piece of paper from his back pocket.

 _Okay_...she thought. _That's weird. Crane's supposed to be picking up the woman, yet the guy hands over his number...._ The young couple now bid Crane farewell. "We'll see you next weekend."

"I see you're having an interesting night." Abbie commented dryly as she approached him, a smirk twisting the corners of her mouth. "What's going on?"

"Miss Mills. What a pleasure to see you have arrived!" Crane smiled brightly at her, his demeanour totally relaxed and mellow. She guessed he was most likely buzzed off of the drinks Hawley had to buy for him.

"So Hawley tells me you have a little bet going on?"

"Indeed. He is ahead one challenge, but that privateer will not best me." Crane's eyes narrowed in his determination. ‘I will not lose this challenge.”

Abbie grinned. "Well just so you know, one of the numbers he got was actually meant for you."

"Really?" Crane looked surprised for a moment, before letting out a sheepish smile. "Then Miss Mills, I must confess. One of the phone numbers I acquired was intended for that rogue."

Abbie snorted a little. "You know you can't let him win, right?"

"I _so_ do not intend to."

"So what's with the hair and outfit?" She asked, waving her hand to indicate his appearance.

"Ah, yes. I met that gentleman and his beloved at those re-enactments I attend. "The lady - Miss Eleanor - has an avid interest in hairstyles of old. She earlier divulged to me that she was adamant to see if my hair was appropriate for colonial re-enactments, once loose and unbound. So I unbound it." Crane winked. "The untucked shirt was just an added embellishment."

"And is your hair appropriate?"

"She said no! Can you believe it?" Crane looked appalled. "She declared it too short and unable to be queued properly! My word, I have been queuing my hair since I was a lad of fourteen!"

"And Hawley thinks you don't know them at all?"

Crane merely shrugged his shoulders.

"Slick, Crane. Really slick.” She eyed him carefully for a moment. "Hmm…I think I know how we can win the bet and get under Hawley’s skin a bit?"

"I am most intrigued..."

Abbie arched her brow. "We're going to tell Hawley you got the girl's number and the guy's number, _and_ that they invited you to a threesome.”

Crane paused for a moment, and Abbie could see his mind turning a bit before he cocked his head and replied in a curious tone. "A threesome?"

"Don't worry about it." _This was going to be fun_. A hint of anticipation ran through her at the thought of thoroughly annoying Hawley. “Just let me do the talking.”

"As you wish, Lieutenant."

Abbie now linked her arm with his and she pulled him back toward the bar and to a clearly impatient Hawley. "C'mon, Jesus Crane. Let’s go win your bet."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: A queue is of course the low ponytail tied with a ribbon (and ends curled) that are frequently seen on 18th century men.
> 
> The forerunner of darts is thought to be an English game called Arrows, where bored English soldiers would carve small arrows and throw them at wine barrels or whatever was available. There is even evidence that in 1582, Anne Boleyn presented Henry VIII with a set of jewel encrusted 'dartes'. Modern day darts didn't really get popular in English bars until the early 1900's.
> 
> It's uncanny how much Tom Mison, with long hair and beard, totally looks like the modern day depiction of Jesus. Just, uncanny.
> 
> Comments and kudos loved and adored!!


	7. The Wisdom of Irving

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, after a uninspiring and frustrating season 2, I had absolutely no desire to write anything else for SH. But the season ended awesomely and while desperately anticipating season renewal, I told myself that if the show WAS renewed, I'd write some more fic. The show's renewed (YES!!) and here is some more fic. :')
> 
> This one is very long. First half is Frank Irving focused and has some bonding moments with Crane, and some made up backstory on Irving. The second half is Abbie's POV, and a bit more light and romantic. Sweet Ichabbie and hints of Mr and Mrs BAMF.
> 
> Beware. If you are offended by swearing, this fic is not for you. There is A LOT of swearing in here, lots of coarse language, lots of crudeness. Just a warning for those who may get easily offended.
> 
> Otherwise, thank you to everyone for reading and I hope you enjoy!

Frank Irving entered the seedy bar, closely followed by a hesitant Ichabod Crane. The bar was located in the basement of a row of businesses is a somewhat shady part of town. It was close to the main downtown drag of Sleepy Hollow, but tucked away at the edge of the 'good' area.

At the 18th century man's judgmental brow, Frank just chuckled and said, "C'mon Crane. Here's your first taste of a seedy downtown dive bar."

They were here to provide an excuse and a means of escape for the Mills sisters. Jenny had been invited to a girls-night-out by one of her old friends from high school. She didn’t want to go alone, so begged her sister Abbie to join her. “We need to get out, have some fun, unwind and relax” Jenny had said. “Come on, it’ll be fun!”

Jenny continued to nag her, and Abbie continued to come up with excuse after excuse as to why she didn't want to go, to the point of claiming staying at home with a good book was preferable. Frank laughed when Jenny told him that she had mercilessly teased Abbie about turning into a crusty old sourpuss like her Witness partner.

Abbie grudgingly relented but demanded that Frank and Crane be at the bar in advance and provide her the distraction to get the hell out of there when she wanted to.

Jenny was thrilled and texted Frank immediately. _Convinced the Old Lady. Be at Crabby Jacks 9pm. Get drunk. I will be! :')_

Between the two of them, Jenny and Frank had taken to calling Crane the Old Man, and Abbie the Old Lady.

Crabby Jack’s was an old rundown bar Frank used to tend bar at while in college. His life revolved around classes during the day, a two hour afternoon nap and then pouring drinks for the rest of the night until 2:00 am. He probably should have quit the place and focused on his studies instead. But he liked the place, liked the people and liked hanging out there. Nights were spent slinging drinks, shooting the shit, stealing smoke breaks and smoking weed in the back with his mostly insane coworkers.

He especially enjoyed the time he spent with his boss and bar owner Jack Mitchell. Jack was like a second father to him, as times even closer than his own reserved one. He was the one who encouraged Frank to join the police academy, going so far as to help him prepare for the entrance exams and the required physical training. He was encouraging, supportive and a positive influence in Frank's life. And he was fun as hell.

To Frank, spending his nights at the dive bar had been totally worth it.

And he still got A's.

"Well, this is a most _interesting_ place." Crane commented with a sarcastic tone.

"It definitely is." Frank replied as he studied the room.

Frank was surprised at how little the place had changed. The hideous 1970s fake wood paneling was still on the wall. The small stage in the front was empty, save for a battered old drum kit, a mike on a stand and two ancient looking amplifiers. Those hideous orange and brown chairs still sat next to the stage, beside the fake brick fireplace. The dirty walls were still covered with old band posters; fragile and faded, corners peeling from the wall. The lights that were mounted on the walls and hung from the ceiling were made of empty beer and liquor bottles.

Not surprising to Frank was the fact that the grungy downstairs bar was mostly filled. Just as it always was when he worked here. The patrons he guessed were most likely the local boozehounds, just as they were twenty years back. A few were alone at the bar, but most were seated at the scuffed wooden tables with pitchers and pint glasses in front of them. It was a slightly older, rougher, blue collar crowd, just as it always was.

Frank sighed. He didn’t realize how much he missed this place. At 25, he had graduated, left for New York City and started his career and life there. Even when he moved back to Sleepy Hollow, the image of a police captain haunting a dive bar such as this was not the impression he wanted to present. He had visited Jack a few times on different turf, cracking jokes and reminiscing about old times. But he had not set foot in the bar since his last day on the job.

But not any more. Right now, he couldn't care less about impressions. Life was too short for pretenses such as that.

As recent events in his life attested, life was too short, _period_.

Frank directed Crane to sit at one of the taller tables with matching bar stools, set to the side and furthest back from the stage. He hoped he could keep an eye on Jenny and Abbie in case they needed ‘rescuing’, but at the same time, stay a bit out of sight from a sea of presumably drunken ladies partying hard during girls-night-out.

"Who's that ugly black bastard!" A deep voice - gruff and very loud – bellowed out over the dance music playing in the background. Frank looked over to see his beloved mentor Jack making his way from behind the bar and towards Frank's table. "Who the hell let your ass into my bar! Carl!" Jack called out to the bouncer by the door, "Get over here and throw this sonafabitch out!"

The bouncer didn't bother moving, instead just shrugging his shoulders in reply. Carl obviously knew Jack well enough to know his boss was simply messing around.

Frank glanced over to Crane, who tensed at the situation. "Don't worry Crane. I know the guy. Old friend." Frank reassured him with a smile.

"Interesting way to speak to an _old friend_." Crane sniffed in reply.

Frank would have to explain crude 'man talk' to him at another time.

Jack bounded up to their table and without hesitation, pulled Frank into a big bear hug. "Oh my god, man. I missed you, you goddamn sonafabitch! It's been twenty years and you don't bother to pop in and see this place once?" Jack shook his head.

"There's nothing to see. Same old depressing shit-hole as before."

"Not true, Frankie. When you left, the joint finally become classy again."

"Tell me, why hasn't the fire department shut you down for all this butt-ugly 70's furniture you got in here. You holding out for a Saturday Night Fever remake?" Frank now grabbed the sleeve of Jack's shirt, a simple yet classic white Hawaiian style set with colourful vintage 60’s embroidery. He sniffed once before wrinkled his nose in feigned disgust. "Woodstock is dead, man. You need to burn this hippie shit.”

Jack just let out a howling laugh. He pulled Frank into another crushing hug while addressing Crane. "Asshole thinks he's funny. Wait till I tell him."

During the entire exchange, Crane did not utter a word. Instead, his widened eyes moved back and forth between the two men, as though watching a tennis match.

Frank clasped his old mentor over his shoulder, realizing how much he had missed the good-natured ribbing and teasing. The gruff man had not changed one bit. Tall, burly, head still set with a thick shock of messy white hair. He had a few more lines on his tanned face and no longer wore hoops in his ears, but otherwise, was exactly the same.

Frank held out his hand towards Crane. "Jack, this is my friend Ichabod Crane. Crane, this is my old boss and mentor, Jack Mitchell."

The two men shook hands. "I gotta warn you. If you know what’s good for you, don't let this asshole near your woman, dude. He'll steal your chick. Women flock to him like he's an adonis. Don't trust this fucker...." Jack pointed his index finger at Frank in an accusing manner.

Frank just laughed while Crane looked confused yet slightly appalled.

Jack hugged him again. "I love this bastard like a son, you see. My son…" Jack released Frank, then started moving back to the bar, finger still pointed at them. "And my son and his friend drink on the house!" He declared loudly. "What'll have?"

The answer popped out of his mouth before he could stop it "Kentucky Bourbon.”

Jack just shook his head as though disappointed, yet a small smile played at his lips. "Pretentious motherfucker." he grumbled as he turned to get the drinks.

Frank couldn't help but grin at his old friend. If you weren't guzzling a beer or doing tequila shots or drinking cheap whiskey, you were a _pretentious motherfucker._

God, he missed Jack. He truly did. Why did he never come back here since he was 25?

Pretentious?

It was absolutely true. He became. He was. For the past few years, he did become pretentious, thinking he was better than this place, better than his mentor, better than these people. He embraced the suit, the tie, the life and the staid personality befitting a high ranking police captain.

Never again.

His recent 'death' and 'resurrection' would make sure of that. Life was way too short; he sure as hell wasn't going to waste it trying to live the image of a lie.

Frank smiled contently, losing himself in good memories for a few moments, before turning his attention to Crane. The Brit's face was a mix of amusement, confusion and a bit of shock. "I only understood half of that exchange, but I am well versed enough to know most of it consisted of curse words."

Frank laughed. "Yeah it did. It's just the way we communicate. Always have."

"With insults and curse words?"

"And an undercurrent of love and respect. I worked here for a few years when I was in college and a bit after. They became like a family to me. Jack especially. He was my mentor and a second father. Encouraged me to become a cop, when every one else said don't waste your time or risk your life."

Crane smiled kindly, "And your own father was not encouraging of your career plans?"

"He was a fireman. Said it was a hard risky and dangerous life, didn't want me to go into something where there was a risk that I could be seriously injured or killed. Wanted me to play it safe and become a teacher or something."

"That is most interesting. My father wished me to join the British army, and once England had prevailed in the War, I was to return and attain a professorship at Oxford. Military rank was considered a necessity and as my father intimated, I would be an ‘improper gentleman’ without it." Crane fingers curled into "bunny ears" to emphasize his words, causing Frank to chuckle. It was the latest modern behaviour Crane had recently picked up on.

Jack reappeared, tray in hand, and set a full Bourbon bottle, two tumblers and two pints of beer on the table. "Goddamn you, Frankie, making me bust out the good shit. Your ass doesn't deserve it." He said good-naturedly.

"My ass deserves to run this bar and run your old ass out of the place."

Jack put his arm around Frank's shoulder again, and turned to Crane. "Let me tell you what this fucker did one time." He pushed Frank out of stool and plopped down to tell his story. Frank moved to stand next to Crane so he could give Jack his full attention.

Crane's eyebrows rose in interest. It apparently didn't take long for him to become somewhat immune to how Jack peppered his speech.

"So there's this Bachelorette party in here, see, and they've been here all night. Full of drunk chicks - twenty of 'em - all looking to get laid, jealous the brides' getting hitched. Frankie's bartending while I'm running back and forth getting food and shit from the back."

"Hitched means married." Frank clarified for Crane with a whisper, though Jack didn't seem to notice. "Chicks means women, laid means sex."

Crane nodded his head in a silent thank you as Jack continued his story.

"So I come out from the back, carrying plates of wings and shit, and there's Frankie on stage, shirt's fucking off, shaking his ass, with like ten women grinding on him like he's the last fucking guy on earth. Never seen anything like it." 

Crane glanced over at Frank, his brow raised in amusement.

"Dude made like $2000 bucks in tips and whatever the fuck they shoved down his pants. And he's bragging. Bragging about this shit. Spends the next fucking year reminding us that he got each and every one of their motherfucking phone numbers. He's a legend, I tell you.” Jack paused a moment, laughing at the memory. “

“All lies, man.” Frank said with a grin, though he knew it was completely true.

“All truth and you know it. Which reminds me.” Jack lightly snapped his fingers as though remembering something. “We got another one of those coming in tonight. Divorce party. Daughter of my buddy Cliff." Jack jumped up from his seat, his face and demeanour suddenly more serious and focused.

"Divorce party?" Crane asked.

"Latest fad. Chick gets a divorce and throws a huge girls night out celebrating the fact they got rid of their old limp dick and are looking for new dick." Jack nonchalantly shrugged his shoulders. "Who am I to judge? More business for me, right?"

"Indeed." Crane replied.

Frank realized that this was the same girls-night-out that Abbie and Jenny were attending. “One of my detectives and her sister are in that party, actually.”

“Well, you’d better warn them that the daughter and her friends are fucking party animals. I promised my buddy they could have the place, but only so I could watch out for her sorry ass. Anyway, gotta do some stuff, back in a bit. And we’re catching up later, Frankie." He pointed to Frank again with his index finger. "Don't disappoint me, son."

"I wouldn't miss it for the world." Frank replied, a huge smile on his face. He sat back down in his chair, waiting for Crane's reaction.

"It appears there is much I must learn in this era, the most recent apparently being modern language and modern festivities." Crane commented dryly.

"Apparently I do too. Never heard of a divorce party. Definitely didn't have those in my day. There are things that the younger generation does that I have no clue about. You're not alone, Crane."

"A divorce party.” Crane repeated again as he shook his head in disgust. "Is this how the modern world celebrates the end of a sacred union?"

Frank grabbed the Bourbon bottle and filled the glasses halfway. "Honestly, sometimes marriages just don't work out. There are lots of reasons, but I think a lot of people realize that it's better to divorce than be miserable in a bad marriage. That’s why they celebrate."

"It just seems so heartless and callous."

"Maybe. But you had divorce in your day, didn't you?" Frank asked.

"We did." Crane took a sip of his drink, appearing thoughtful. "However, it was not so easily accessible in my time. Extenuating circumstances would be required."

"Adultery? Fraud, maybe?" Frank suggested lightly. "I think in your case, it wouldn't be hard to prove fraud."

Crane remained silent, but slightly bobbed his head in agreement.

"Thing is, People change, mature and become different people. You are not the same person you were when you were twenty. You're not the same person you were one year ago. Especially you, of all people. Hell, neither am I. We all change and evolve over time and there is nothing wrong with that. But sometimes, you move in one direction, and your significant other goes into a completely opposite direction. Life together becomes incompatible. The person you married, or the type of person you wanted to be with when you were twenty, may not be the person you want to be with in your forties.

Crane stroked his beard thoughtfully for a moment. "I can understand that sentiment. Unfortunately, I can relate to that all too well."

Frank continued. "So instead of wasting your life in a miserable marriage, some people choose to get divorced and move onto the next chapter in their lives. A lot of people are much happier too, and they know it. Hence the divorce party. Celebrate the closing of one book, and the opening of another."

"I feel that in my circumstances, I too would have most likely divorced."

Frank didn't want to say too much on that. Talking to Crane about what happened with his deceased wife was at times a touchy subject. He merely replied, "I think so too."

"You are a very wise man, Captain." Crane drained his glass, then refilled both of their drinks.

"Only because of experience. And my experience tells me that you should consider the man you are now, what you want out of life and who you want to spend that life with." Frank paused a moment, slowly twisting his glass in his hands as he considered how to continue.

“You and I _especially_ should realize that life is too short and we can be taken from this earth in a heartbeat." He snapped his fingers to illustrate the point. "And sometimes circumstance and people come into your life that you never expected, but turn out to be exactly what you need."

Crane remained silent but was studying Frank intently. His brow wrinkled a little and he slowly nodded his head in understanding. Frank knew Crane was dissecting the words, mulling them around in his mind, taking the message to heart.

"Mutantur omnia nos et mutamur in illis." Frank added for a little emphasis, hoping his Latin was still serviceable.

Crane looked startled for a second, then an approving smile appeared on his face. He repeated Frank's words back in English. "All things change and we change with them."

"That's right. "

Now Crane added his own Latin, "Non est vivere sed valere vita est." _(Life is not being alive but being well)_

"Exactly. We've been given another chance at life, at new experiences, to find new love, and just be happy. To actually _live_. Embrace this chance, Crane. Don't waste it. I certainly won't."

Frank hoped his point got across. It had been eight months since his reawakening. Eight months since the death of Henry and Crane's wife.

For eight months he watched the man sitting in front of him slowly gain acceptance and ultimately closure. What amazed Frank the most was that the more Crane accepted what happened, the closer to Abbie he wanted - and managed - to become.

Frank knew they were nothing more than friends, but as time went on, the looks grew longer, the physicality became more prominent and Frank knew beyond a shadow of a doubt these two belonged together. It reminded him of Cynthia, and how they had slowly grown closer and closer together when they first were dating. Though he and his wife had mutually decided to separate and remain friends, there was still love, respect and affection between them. As he told Crane earlier, ‘people change and sometimes grow apart‘. At this point in his life, he and Cynthia were more compatible with each other as close friends and loving parents to Macey. It was the most ideal situation and one that made both of them content and happy.

"I will heed your words, Captain." His voice was low and thoughtful. Crane drained the last of his bourbon and Frank could see that his cheeks were started to flush a little from the alcohol.

Seemingly content with Frank’s revelations, Crane decided on a new subject. His voice pitched a bit higher when he asked, "So then, tell me what to expect of this so-called divorce party?'

"A bunch of drunken women, that's what. And that includes Jenny and Abbie."

As if on cue, the front door to the bar opened and a crowd of women pushed their way in. They were laughing and semi-dancing as they made their way into bar. All eyes went to the door, as one of the women yelled out "Watch out, boys, the cougars have arrived! Let the party begin!"

The two women leading the pack dug into their large purses and started throwing small colourful foil packets at the patrons. Most of the guys in the room started wolf whistling and cheering them on.

One of the packets glanced off Frank's shoulder while another hit Crane in the chest. A few more landed on their table. Crane picked one up and studied it carefully. "Extra large ribbed." he read as his brow furrowed. "Lubricated for _her_ pleasure...?"

Frank put his hand on his forehead as he started laughing.

Crane carefully tore one open, pulled out the latex, unrolled it and started playing with the condom, his long fingers picking and pulling at the tip. "Are these...are these what I _think_ they are?" Crane asked, his cheeks going even redder.

Frank laughed even harder. "Yeah, they are."

"My word." Crane sounded almost dumbstruck.

A woman now stopped next to their table and grinned at the Brit. "Hey sexy, if you want someone to test those out with...." she started but before she could finish her sentence, another woman grabbed her arm and dragged her off to the stage area, the words _I can’t believe you said that!_ echoing behind them.

A few more women wandered in, with Jenny and Abbie trailing in the back. Jenny was laughing in enjoyment, while Abbie just look absolutely mortified. She was just shaking her head in complete embarrassment.

Crane spotted them first and hastily grabbed for the condom packets and wrappers that were on the table, shoving them and the unfurled one into his coat pocket to hide them. "Captain, Miss Jenny and the Lieutenant have arrived." he announced, raising his arm to get the ladies' attention.

The music in the bar grew louder, as though someone had turned up the stereo volume. Dance music filled the room. Jenny grinned, raised her arms a little in the air and proceed to dance on over to the two Captains, her hips shaking to the music as she did. Abbie reservedly followed.

Frank raised his glass towards Crane in a salute and smiled. "Here they come."

...............

"So I see you guys are having a good time." Her boss Frank Irving commented in an amused tone, once Abbie and her sister were within earshot.

"Two margaritas, three vodka shots." Jenny said giddily. "Oh my god. You would not believe how raunchy these girls are." she added while wrapping her arms around Frank's shoulders from behind.

Abbie wasn't surprised about this. Frank and Jenny had been "unofficially" seeing each other for a few weeks now. Both of them were not looking for anything serious. But they just liked spending time together and enjoyed getting to know one another and always had a lot of fun.

Since his soul had been reclaimed, her boss seemed to suddenly discover a new _joie de vivre_. It made Abbie think of those people who survived a near death experience, and how it completely changed their lives.

The fact was that Irving did survive an actual death experience. And he had resolved to make sure that he was going to enjoy every second of every minute of his second life.

"Don't forget the jello shots." Abbie added, as she gently tugged the fabric at Crane's shoulder and grimaced. She side-stepped and stumbled a little in her high heels and grabbed Crane's shoulder to steady herself. Even though he was sitting and she was standing in stilettos, the height of the bar stool still made Crane taller than Abbie. His arm went around her waist to holding her steady.

"Save me." she pleaded. "I don't think I can take girls-night-out any more. I'd rather fight a demon."

"Would you prefer I conjure up one?" Crane asked, his tone good-natured and teasing.

Abbie rested her forehead against Crane's shoulder. "Yes. Please. I'm too old for this." And she honestly felt it. It had been such a long time since she donned high heels, a fancy dress and piled on the makeup. Her standard uniform had been T-shirt, jeans, practical boots and a sturdy coat. And right now, she desperately missed her uniform.

Her calves and ankles were aching from the 4-inch heels. The shoes themselves fit well and were comfortable; she just wasn't used to standing on her tiptoes and balls of her feet for so long, as these heels made it seem like she was.

Jenny had been the smart one. She had dressed in thigh high black boots, tight black pants and a sparkly silver tank top that looked fabulous on her and was perfect for clubbing.

Abbie sighed to herself. At least her dress was comfortable. She had chosen a wine coloured A-line dress held up with thin straps. The skirt reached mid-thigh and was slightly pleated and floaty, perfect for twirling around on the dance floor.

However, the dress did flatter her and her curves and certainly garnered her attention. One of those people just happened to be her Witness partner.

Straightening back up, Abbie reached out and took a sip from Crane's beer. As she did, Abbie caught his eyes covertly raking over her, trying to be as nonchalant as possible, but she knew he was taking in every inch of her outfit.

"The problem is that she can't hold her liquor." Jenny teased, as she propped her chin up on one of Frank's shoulders.

"I can hold my liquor just fine. It's the rest I can't tolerate. I can't wear tight dresses anymore, can't walk in heels, can't party hard anymore. Being a Witness has ruined me."

"You could never be ruined in my eyes." Crane said with a smile. She noticed his cheeks were flushed, the red creeping out onto his cheeks from under the edge of his beard.

Both he and Frank stood up at the same time. Crane held out his hand, offering his chair Abbie. "Please, you must be tired."

Abbie gratefully took the seat, with Crane shifting to stand behind her. She felt his hand rest on her lower back, his fingers lightly stroking the area and a tingle went down her spine.

This was.... _new_.

Abbie glanced at Jenny and Irving, who were grinning at her like idiots.

Jack now came over, an ice bucket under one arm, and four champagne glasses hanging between his fingers in the opposite hand.

"Compliments of the house." He said, craming everything on the table. "Especially to the lovely ladies."

Introductions were made and it warmed Abbie's heart that she could see genuine affection between her boss and the bar owner.

Irving now pulled the bottle from the bucket and studied the label. "And I'm the pretentious motherfucker?" he said. He turned the bottle around and Abbie could see it was an expensive Moet Chandon.

"Hey, I can be classy. Sometimes I like to partake in something a little more refined.” He turned his attention to Abbie and Jenny. “"So how on earth did you lovely ladies get mixed up with this jerkoff?" Jack directed the question to Abbie and Jenny.

"I’ll have you know, this lady here," He pointed to Abbie, "is the police detective, so you better watch your manners."

Jack whistled as he took in Abbie.

Abbie politely clarified, "Captain Irving is my boss."

Frank now pointed to Jenny, “And this is Abbie’s sister Jenny, who just happens to be a prolific fortune hunter and will kick your ass from here to hell.”

Jack whistled again in appreciation. "Impressive company you keep, Frankie. And you Ichabod.”

“You do not know the half of it.” Crane said with a smile.

Jack now jerked his thumb toward the bar entrance. "I closed the bar early, by the way. I don't need any more assholes wandering in tonight. It's just us and these beer soaked bastards on the dance floor." Jack turned his attention to the stage and shook his head. "I mean, look at this shit."

All eyes turned to the stage and Abbie swore it looked like a dance club _slash_ strip club.

The tables and chairs had been pushed to the side and back from the stage area, opening up an area that was now serving as a dance floor. Some of the chairs were moved to line the edge of the floor, all occupied with men cheering on the dancing. All of the women in the divorce party were cutting a rug on the dance floor, bopping together to the thumping dance music. A few of the male patrons had joined them, all dancing like they were in some trashy club.

The music in the bar became even louder and Jenny grabbed Irving's hand and dragging him towards the stage. "Come on Frank! Time to dance." Irving followed behind without hesitation and with a big grin on his face. Jack placed the bucket on the floor, winked at Abbie and headed back for the bar.

This was definitely Second Change Irving.

Abbie and Crane sat in silence for a few minutes, both sipping champagne as they watching the action on the floor. She glanced over at her Witness partner and was amused at the pinched expression on his face.

She leaned toward Crane and said in a loud voice, "Wanna dance?"

"As those people currently are? Absolutely not!" Crane looked horrified at the idea. "I will not subject myself to this most undignified behaviour."

"Come on. For me? Jenny and Irving are up there, being _undignified_." Abbie pouted a little. "Life's too short you know." She really didn't expect Crane to agree to hit the dance floor with her or anyone, but for kicks, she thought she'd needle him a bit.

Crane's expression immediately shifted into something Abbie wasn't sure how to interpret it. He looked to be deep in thought, almost contemplative. He stared past her for a long minute, absent-mindedly sipping champagne.

After a couple of minutes, Abbie grew concerned and tapped his hand to get his attention.

He blinked rapidly a few times before locking eyes with her. He stood up and moved to her side, leaning close to her so she could easily hear him, "You are absolutely correct, Lieutenant. Life is quite short. And we should not waste a single moment. So let us take to the dance floor."

"What?" Abbie was taken aback. "I was joking."

"I am serious." He held out his hand for her to take. "I feel it is time for me to take to heart, sound advice from Captain Irving. Dance with me, Abbie."

"You're not serious?"

"I am most serious." He offered his hand again. With a soft smile and softer voice, he said again, "Dance with me."

Abbie placed her hand in his. He curled his fingers over her hand and led her to the dance floor and the crowd of drunken revelers. Abbie spotted Jenny and Irving smack dab in the middle of the crowd, dancing and grinding on each other.

Abbie was surprised that Crane was the one leading the way. She caught Jenny's eye as they made their way through, and Jenny raised her eyebrows in surprise. Abbie mouthed the words 'I know' as they continued on.

Crane pulled her to the back of the stage area, away from the majority of the crowd, most likely to not be so on display.

Abbie knew she would have to teach him some moves. She kicked off her heels, took his hands in hers, and started slowly shaking her hips back and forth, encouraging him to do the same. She pulled his body towards her, then apart, then back again, in a move that reminded her of the old 40s and 50s dancing she always saw on TV. He went along easily and was quite fluid in his movements.

As he became more comfortable, he started throwing some of his own flourishes, moves that Abbie thought could be moves from the dances he knew at the time. To her utter delight, he started twirled her around, causing her to collapse against his chest a few times, losing herself in laughter.

He leaned down, his lips near her earlobe so she could hear him. "How am I doing?"

"Wonderful." She said in a giddy voice.

"I feel an absolute fool."

Abbie grinned, "Don't worry. If you're drunk enough you don't care."

"This music is horrendous."

"I know."

"The words make no sense."

"They're not supposed to. You're just supposed to move your body to the beat."

"The beat is horrendous."

Abbie laughed. She had to admit, Crane was actually pretty good at dancing. He was also starting to get into the music, however ‘horrendous’ he had declared it. Sometimes he’d lightly head bang, bouncing his head to the music, allowing his long loose hair to fling and fly back and forth and around his head. Sometimes he was able the anticipate the words to the song, those _I love you's I want yous, yeah yeahs_ that tended to repeat in all of the songs the bar played that night. He'd lock eyes with Abbie and mouth the words, as though actually serenading her.

God, she was having a fabulous time. Who knew dancing with her exceptionally crusty and reserved 18th century partner would be so much fun. It was the best and most fun Abbie had in ages. She loved dancing with Crane, hell she loved just being with him, near him, laughing and having a good time.

Crane grabbed her hand and twirled her again, her skirt swirling high around her hips. "You look wonderful.” He said, his eyes lingering on her legs, his lips brushing against her ear, once again making her tingle. “I am a very lucky man, because you are here with me and you are dancing with me.”

Abbie slapped him playfully on the chest. “See? I told you, life is too short and you need to enjoy it, no matter what.”

A small smile quirked at his lips. “You are absolutely correct. Life is much too short for hesitation.” With that declaration, he gently cradled her face in his hands, his fingers delicately stroking her jaw and brought his lips to hers, kissing her slowly and very passionately.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I have no idea if divorce parties exist, but I would not be surprised. I read an article that talked about woman buying divorce rings for themselves. Many woman have bachelorette parties, so why not a divorce party.
> 
> The show needs to have these guys dancing. That is all.  
> Comments and kudos always loved and welcome.


	8. The Road Trip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this story, Abbie and Crane end up dealing with a bunch of bullies in a bar. Inspired by recent news events (of just plain ignorant and misbehaving humans) and also a few movies I’ve seen recently that employed that similar trope.
> 
> Terms to know:  
> Head – The layer of foam at the top of a glass, when beer is poured from tap.  
> Pyramid – In Billiards, what they call the coloured balls when they are setup into a triangle formation before the first shot.  
> Rack – term for the plastic triangle that helps form the pool balls into a triangle.  
> Set the Rack – putting the coloured/numbered balls in the proper order inside the rack  
> Break or Break Shot – the first shot in a game of pool, where a player uses the white cue ball to try and scatter the pyramid so as many balls as possible go into the pockets.
> 
> This story is very ambiguous in terms of Ichabbie and what the state of their relationship truly is. It is not the focus and not intended to be the focus. However there are subtle hints and less subtle hints and feel free to interpret as you see fit.
> 
> Again, this ended up being a longer one. There is a bit of setup to the story before they get into the bar, as I needed to set the scene.
> 
> All in Abbie's POV. Please enjoy!

 

She was standing beside Crane, both next to a battered old wooden pool table, surrounded by five rednecks looking ready to snap Crane’s own slender neck. Her hand was half-clenched and hovering near her gun. Crane was brandishing a pool stick like a sword, daring anyone to take one step closer to them.

Abbies’ senses were on alert and she no longer felt buzzed. She knew Crane was, as most likely the other five assholes harassing them were.

This was _not_ how this road trip was supposed to start.

………………

_2 hours earlier_

Abbie felt exhausted. Her wrists were sore, her shoulders ached, and her legs were irritatingly restless.

She had been on the road for over six hours, intending to meet up with a Dr. S. M. Reeves, a witness for an open and unsolved embezzlement investigation whom Abbie had been tasked with interviewing.

Originally, Abbie had intended on flying as was precinct standard, but Reyes had been in a disagreeable mood after learning that the New York State Governor had stepped in and demanded a specific audit of the Sleepy Hollow police department. This audit included all financials, and Reyes refused to allow the expense of a plane ticket and hotel to be added to the already dicey department books. Instead, she suggested Abbie drive and stay at motels, and they’d worry about reimbursements later.

‘Captain Reyes, I don’t mind driving, but I need a few days to get down there, maybe a couple of days to interview Dr. Reeves, time to sleep and drive back.’

At Abbie’s words, Reyes stared her down for a few seconds, before a sheepish smile appeared on the Captain’s face. ‘Detective Mills, I have to apologize. With this pointless audit, everyone’s been overworked with little break or even time off.’ The stern yet formative woman now lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘Especially you. You have gone above and beyond, worked late every night and without complaint. Take all of the time you need and if it happens to take a couple of days longer for you to make the trip, so be it.’ Reyes shrugged her shoulders. ‘If anyone complains, send them to me. If you happen to stop somewhere else fun, no one needs to know. We’ll worry about the details later.’ The Captain winked at Abbie then without another word, strode away.

 _Did Reyes just give me a few extra days off?_ Abbie thought, a bit of relief and excitement running through her. She hadn’t had a full day off in over four months.

The drive would be long and she knew she wanted some company. She decided to ask Jenny first. In her mind, Abbie thought a road trip would be another great way to spend time and bond with her younger sister.

Surprisingly, Jenny begged off on the trip, claiming she was “too busy”. She then slyly pointed out that Ichabod Crane hadn’t been out of Sleepy Hollow since he awoke from his long dirt nap, and maybe he could benefit from a road trip too.

‘Are you sure you don’t want to come with me? Come on. A road trip could be fun.’ Abbie begged, her lips almost in a pout.

Jenny grinned for a moment, before replying in her signature smart ass tone, ‘As much as I’ll miss the sleazy motels, grungy bars and greasy diner food, I think I’m going to pass.’ She now stroked her chin as though in deep thought. ‘You know, you really should take Crane with you. You guys haven’t hung out together lately. You guys can spend some down time together, broaden his horizons…’ she trailed off, not even bothering to hid her smirk.

‘Jenny…’ Abbie cautioned as she rolled her eyes. Recently, Jenny had been throwing thinly veiled innuendo concerning her and Crane, to Abbie’s continued annoyance.

‘I just think you could give him an experience he’ll never forget.’

‘ _Jenny._ ’

Jenny raised her hands as though surrendering, ‘Alright, alright. I’m kidding. But you two do need some downtime.’ Jenny hugged her sister tightly. ‘Just make sure you call me so I know you guys are okay.’

Less than 24 hours later, they were on the road heading east, somewhere near the state border of Pennsylvania, with Crane behind the wheel. He had taken over at the three hour mark, confidently driving along the miscellaneous back wood country roads. Abbie had tilted the passenger seat back a little, allowing her to get more comfortable. She closed her eyes and let her mind relax and wander.

Her thoughts immediately jumped to her partner. First, she couldn’t believe how easily he agreed to accompany her on this road trip. He had not asked about sleeping accommodations. He had not inquired as to why Abbie wanted him to join her. He had not asked specifics as to why Abbie was making this trip in the first place, or even how long the trip would be.

All he said was, ‘Miss Mills, I look forward to exploring the countryside with you, and seeing how the land has grown and changed. When will we depart?’

She reflected on the small smile that had quirked at the corner of his mouth after she had asked him to accompany her and the joyful mood he seemed to be in as they drove along the state roads. Abbie closed her eyes and shifted against the passenger seat, curling into a more comfortable position. In a few minutes, she drifted off completely…

…

‘Lieutenant?’

A deep voice broke into her deep sleep. She felt a warm hand nudge her leg and woke up with a start.

‘Lieutenant. I am sorry to wake you but I feel I must inform you of something potentially dire.’

Abbie shook the cobwebs from her head and then rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. The sun was starting to set and she wondered how long she had been asleep. Looking at the in-dash clock, she saw she had been out for almost two hours. She had been more tired than she realized. ‘Sorry. Yeah, what’s wrong Crane?’ She straightened up her seat as she forced her attention to her partner.

‘I feel I must inform you that the gasoline indicator is now pointing near the 1/8th mark. Your odometer is indicating that we have only 30 miles left to travel.’

“We just need a gas station.’ Abbie squinted ahead at the narrow road and at the surrounding area, and saw the hint of lights starting to illuminate a small town located a few miles ahead. ‘No worries Crane. It’s getting dark anyway. I think we should spend the night in the town coming up. We can get gas and some food while we are there.’

‘As you wish, Lieutenant. I do hope the tavern serves a proper ale.’

Abbie laughed at Crane’s obvious vice. He loved his whiskey and ale and anything else alcoholic and always took the opportunity to sample to “local brew and spirits” anytime he could. The stresses of their mission seemed to have them hitting the bars more and more lately, just as an excuse to unwind and relax.

But with the insanity of the audit, she hadn’t gone to a bar in weeks and realized she missed the visits. She enjoyed kicking back with wine or a beer and spending time bantering with her fate-entwined partner.

And right now, the thought of that wine or beer and banter was incredibly appealing to her.

Abbie shifted a little in her seat so she could study Crane’s profile. A huge grin grew on her face. He looked alert, focused and seemed to radiate happiness. ‘You love driving, don’t you?’

Crane kept his eyes on the road but Abbie could clearly see he was smiling. ‘It is an absolute marvel.’

…..

Just as she wished, Crane had pulled into a local gas station _slash_ motel _slash_ bar at the outskirts of the small town named Pleasant Point - population 800.

By 8:00pm that evening, Abbie and Crane were already settled into what was apparently the only bar in town. They were dressed as they always were, she in her jeans, t-shirt and leather jacket, he in his boots, breeches and long coat.

They were seated next to eat other at the bar, both still picking at the leftover scraps of their burger and fries, with almost empty beer pints in front of them.

She didn’t know why, but the draft beer from this grungy out of the way place tasted good and was incredibly refreshing.

‘Miss Mills, you wrists seem quite stiff.’ Crane noted when she raised her almost empty glass and finished her drink. Her hand barely tilted at the wrist. She swore she was starting to get a nasty case of carpel tunnel.

‘It’s all of the damn paperwork. Reyes has us doing extra paperwork for this stupid audit. I’ve been sitting in front of the computer writing reports for hours every day and night for weeks.’ Abbie groaned as she set her drink down. Just that simple motion seemed to suddenly twist and tighten something along her upper back and shoulders.

‘Why did you not tell me?’ Crane asked with obvious concern in his voice. With the audit, she had spent most of her time at her desk - her actual police department desk - while Crane hid out in the Archives, his nose as always buried in dusty old books. In those busy weeks, she had barely spent time at the cabin, so when Abbie was actually at home - alone or with Jenny - she trudged on with her incessant report writing.

Crane knew she was quite busy at work, but she never let on about the extra work she was doing at home. Instead, Abbie just claimed she was tired at the end of the day and wanted to go home and rest. In reality, she didn’t want to worry her partner. At her request, Crane - a gentleman as always - didn’t question her spending more time at home and simply let her be.

This fact surprised Abbie, but she had correctly suspected that Jenny was keeping him up to date on her non-activities at home, partially alleviating his concerns.

Abbie just shrugged. ‘Nothing to tell. It’s part of my job.’

‘Your back is sore from spending so much time hunched in front of your computing device.’ Crane pointed out, an even more concerned tone in his voice.

Abbie waved her hand in dismissal. ‘It’s nothing. Just need to stretch more.’ She raised her arms straight up in the air, while tilting her head back and forth in an attempt to _crack_ her back and relieve some of the tension in her muscles.

Crane just watched her intently for a moment. He waved over to the bartender, who brought their second round of beers before saying, ‘You should have asked for my assistance in your report writing.’

‘You wanna help me write my reports?’ Abbie lowered her arms and grinned with amusement and slight disbelief.

‘Why ever not?’

‘I don’t think the department would appreciate reports in pen and ink and fancy script.’ She joked, before taking a long sip from her beer.

Crane narrowed his eyes as he pursed his lips, ‘Of course I would not use a _quill_. I would use a laptop to assist. I am quite confident in fingering those infernal machines now.’

Abbie lips where still on the rim of her glass when she inadvertently snorted out a laugh in response. Foam from the head spewed out in front of her, hitting the bar top and splattering over Crane.

She hastily wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, ‘Oh my god, Crane! I’m sorry about that.’ She couldn’t suppress her giggle as she quickly brushed some of the foam out of his dark hair and beard. ‘But it’s called typing, not fingering. Never ever say _fingering_.’

She felt her cheeks go warm thinking about how she would explain that particular slang definition of the term to him.

‘That is quite alright.’ He replied as he carefully wiped the wetness from his eye and cheek. ‘And yes, I had forgotten. You are correct, the term is typing.’

He seemed nonchalant and nonplussed at his error but Abbie could spy a slight tweak of his brow and saw that his bright blue eyes glittered. Was he trying to make her laugh? In the lowered light, Abbie swore the corners of his lips quirking up a bit.

 _Goddamn it Crane_. In her mind, she chided him - albeit good-naturedly - then laughed a little at the thought. She was actually really glad her partner was accompanying her on this road trip. The fact that he was honestly trying to make her laugh made her feel warm inside.

‘Well, you could help me…’ and here she emphasized the word, ‘… _type_ up my reports I guess, but I would still have to write them.’

Crane took a long drink from his beer, draining at least a third of it at one shot. ‘How so? As you know, I am quite exceptional with the English language.’

‘Yeah I know. And that’s the problem.’

‘My mastery of the language is a problem?’ He asked, his voice hinting at a bit of pompous arrogance now.

‘Yes it is.’ Abbie answered seriously. ‘I can’t very well say “the gentleman whose guilt has not yet been lawfully proven, performed an unjust beating of a respected proprietor of an immoral burlesque establishment”, now can I? They’ll obviously know it wasn’t me who wrote it.’

This time, Crane was not able to hold back his own grin, ‘No, they would not. They would, however, expect you to write…’ and here he cleared his throat before switching to a very convincing American accent, ‘…that the male suspect physically assaulted the owner of the local strip club.’

Abbie’s brow raised and she nodded in appreciation. ‘Very nice.’

‘Thank you.’ He replied proudly.

Crane locked eyes with hers and simply gazed at her for a long moment. She could see his eyes moving slowly over her face, studying her carefully.

He did this for a long time, and Abbie started wondering if the beer was hitting him harder than she thought it should.

‘Crane, are you okay?’

‘Very much so.’

‘Okay…’ Abbie trailed off before attempting to crack her neck again. ‘Maybe I will let you to write my reports when we get back.’ She said with a sigh. ‘It would help out a lot, actually.’

Crane now rose from his chair and stood behind her. ‘Let me try to help now.’ He carefully placed his hands on her shoulders and started running his hands back and forth and back and forth along her upper back and arms. Squeezing with his fingers and pushing hard with his palms, he deftly worked her tense and tight muscles. Periodically, his fingers would move in a spider-like manner, applying pressure that alternated between hard and soft in certain areas. At times, the press of his fingers was almost painful, the knots in her muscles were so tightly wound, but the deep tissue massage he was giving her felt absolutely incredible.

Abbie slumped forward against the bar, rested her head against her folded arms and closed her eyes. She couldn’t stop herself periodically letting out a small groan.

The massage Crane was giving her was absolutely amazing. She was starting to feel like a bowl of jelly and prayed he would never ever stop.

_So good_ _….don’t stop…so good…Oh god, don’t stop…._

‘Are you okay, Lieutenant?’ Crane asked. ‘I am not hurting you?’

Abbie just mumbled something unintelligible, barely able to respond. She swore his hands were pure magic.

She thought she heard Crane chuckle a little as he continued to work.

‘Seriously, don’t stop…’she groaned. The beer had partly unwound her already and Crane’s hands were just adding to her utterly relaxed state.

‘Well now, isn’t this awfully cute.’ A slightly high-pitched voice interrupted.

Abbie straightened up with a start. She turned around in her seat, only to be met by a small group of guys standing right by them, leering grins on their faces. There were five of them, all looked to be in their mid-twenties. They were all wearing trucker caps and ratty dirt and grease-laden jeans. Three of the guys were wearing t-shirts, one had on a denim shirt and one was actually wearing suspenders.

Abbie hated stereotyping but in this case, she couldn’t help it. The first word that popped in her head to describe these guys was _redneck_.

She locked eyes with Crane, silently willing him to not cause any trouble. She didn’t know why or what was going to happen, but she instinctively knew these guys could become an issue.

‘You’re in our spot.’ The guy in suspenders declared.

The five guys were surrounding them in a semi-circle, as though boxing them in against the bar.

‘Pardon me?’ Crane replied politely as he straightened up a little and puffed out his chest.

The guy in the denim shirt took a step towards Crane and puffed out his own chest. He was a big guy, bulky and muscular but not overweight. ‘I said...you’re in our spot.’

Abbie inwardly groaned. This _was_ going to be an issue.

Crane looked around the area and pointed out, ‘The other seats at the bar are empty. You are welcome to take residence there.’

The big man turned to the guy in suspenders and said with a laugh, ‘Did you hear that, Bob? He wants us to sit somewhere else.’ He replied, sounding as though it were a completely unreasonable request.

‘I heard that, Lyle.’

Lyle folded his hands across his chest in a challenging manner. ‘I think he don’t understand real English, Bob. You just told him the bar was reserved for us.’

At this, Crane took a step forward, positioning himself one foot from Lyle. They were the exact same height, though Crane was much more slender and leaner than the bulky Lyle. The redneck was the tallest of the bunch, but to Abbie’s complete irritation, all of the men still towered over her own petite self.

‘‘Why don’t you and the little lady skedaddle off somewhere else.’ Lyle suggested.

‘There are plenty of other seats to occupy, gentlemen.’ Crane repeated. ’As you can see, the lady and I were here first.’

Abbie could see Crane’s hands were now slightly twitching at his side, indicating he was starting to get agitated.

Abbie exhaled in exasperation, feeling tension slowly creep back into her muscles.

_Why does this have to happen to us now?_

This wasn’t the first time she’d encountered a group of guys trying to be all tough and intimidating for no good reason. They were the type of people who always acted like arrogant assholes in groups - bullying whoever they wanted - but whenever alone, acted like complete cowards.

The last thing she wanted was to get into a bar fight or some other encounter that could compromise her road trip or cause her - and Reyes - any problems. She was a cop, but she knew she didn’t have any real jurisdiction here in this tiny town, wherever it was. Luckily she did have her gun strapped to her hip. It was something that gave her a bit of comfort, as it always did.

Abbie rose from her seat and gently tugged Crane’s sleeve, hopefully indicating to him he needed to stand down. ‘Crane, it’s okay. We’ll just go sit elsewhere.’

‘That’s right. You listen to your woman, boy.’ Lyle smirked, a huge grin on his face. Abbie watched as he popped a toothpick into his mouth and started chewing on it.

Crane turned to Abbie, his expression completely exasperated, ‘Lieutenant, these men should not simply come in here and harass other patrons as they please?’

Lyle laughed again, then proceeded to creep Abbie out by giving her a leering once-over, ‘You a cop? You don’t look like no cop.’

Abbie put on her authoritative demeanour. ‘Yeah, I’m a cop. Westchester County Police.’

Lyle tsked at her words, ‘Well, you’re way out of your jurisdiction, baby. So why don’t you and your boyfriend hightail it out of our spot.’

From the corner of her eyes, she could see Crane’s hands curling into fists. She grabbed his arm. ‘Crane, it’s okay. Let’s go shoot some pool. Come on.’ She said, her voice commanding, yet soothing.

Crane relaxed his hands a little, but his eyes never left Lyle and the others. ‘As you wish, Lieutenant.’

…………

It had been 10 minutes since they had been kicked out of their bar seats. Abbie was trying to calm Crane down and get him to focus on something else besides the five bullies. In his agitation, Crane was already more than half-way through his third beer. She was trying to explain the rules of pool to him, and was currently attempting to show him how to set the pyramid.

‘They remove us from our seat, and then do not even bother to occupy them.’ Crane grumbled, a tinge of anger colouring his voice.

Abbie looked up to see Crane glaring towards the rednecks. Her eyes went to the bar and saw it was empty. Just as he said, the five guys hadn’t even bothered to take the stools at the bar area they had been kicked out of.

In fact, no one was seated at the bar. A couple other patrons still lingered, but the place seemed to have almost cleared out. The bartender also seemed to have vanished into thin air.

Abbie would put money down that this wasn’t the first time these guys had come in and harassed the other patrons.

Her eyes scanned the room and saw that the rednecks were hanging out by the jukebox and dart board, which was at the other side of the room.

Abbie looked up at Crane, and could tell his jaw was tense. ‘Just let it go. They’re just a bunch of bullies, trying to get a rise out of us. Leave it alone.’

‘It is an injustice.’

‘Just leave it alone. We have a purpose for this road trip. I don’t want anything to screw it up.’ Abbie sighed. ‘Last thing I need is to tell Reyes we got into a bar fight.’

Crane turned to her and Abbie could see his face soften. He sensed the determination in her voice and expression. The asshole Lyle was right; she has no real authority here and because of this, Abbie didn’t want any confrontation at all. ‘Look Crane, maybe we should just leave.’

Crane shook his head. ‘No, no Lieutenant. I wish to enjoy your company, and my libations…’, and here he raised his pint glass as though in a toast, ‘…without any scoundrels interrupting us.'

‘Good. Now get over here and set the rack.’

Crane did as told, setting the pool balls into the proper formation as taught, while Abbie glanced back over towards the men. Bob was slipping some coins into the jukebox and quickly selected a song.

A moment later, the opening drumbeat and guitar riff of Led Zeppelin’s _D_ _’yer Mak’er_ kicked in. Abbie just rolled her eyes. Their choice of music didn’t quite surprise her, though it freaked her out a bit; Crane had just finished saying he didn’t want to leave the bar.

The five men were now purposely striding over towards her and her partner.

_What the hell do they want now?_

Abbie was officially irritated. What started off as a promising evening was being completely wrecked by these presumably local bullies.

And these assholes interrupted the most amazing massage she had ever had in her life.

If they didn’t watch it, there would be hell to pay.

Crane has also looked up and noticed the guys heading over. He immediately moved to stand right next to Abbie, ready to protect her.

Lyle sauntered right over to Abbie’s side and grabbed her arm. ‘Let’s dance, baby.’

Abbie yanked her arm away and just glared at him. ‘No thanks. And you can leave now; go back to your reserved seats.’

‘Come on, just one dance?’ He grinned, but it came off as more of a sneer.

Crane stepped between her and Lyle, ‘You will keep your hands to yourself, sir.’

Lyle ignored him, instead addressing Abbie in a more demanding tone, ‘I said let’s dance. Song’s almost over, babe.’

Crane’s voice rose, ‘You clearly heard the lady. She does not want to dance with the likes of you. You will walk away now or there will be consequences.’ There was no mistaking the threatening tone in his voice.

Instead, Bob raised his hands, leaned forward and shoved Crane hard. ‘No one asked your opinion, boy. Or your permission.’ As he said this, the other three guys moved to flank Lyle and Bob, each ready to lunge and attack if needed.

_Are you damn well joking me?_

_This was over. Now._

‘I am giving you guys one warning.” Abbie’s voice was low and commanding. ‘If you touch me or my friend again, I will arrest you for assault. And I am pretty sure the cops in this town are going to side with me, not you.’ Her hand hovered around the gun at her side. ‘And I am pretty sure I can get an easy conviction.’

Three of the guys who had remained silent the entire time looked suddenly worried. Abbie guessed they probably had prior convictions and were most likely on probation. Bob and Lyle, however, remained unmoved.

Lyle shifted to address Crane directly. ‘You’d better keep your woman in her place. She’s shooting her mouth off too much and I don’t like it.’

Crane looked utterly appalled. ‘You will leave this area immediately.’

Instead of leaving, both men went over to the pool table. Bob grabbed two pool cues from the wall and threw one to Lyle. He removed the plastic rack from the pyramid, placed the white ball in position, and then started to slowly chalk the tip of his cue stick.

‘Nah. I don’t think we are going to leave. I think we’ll play some pool.’ Bob lined up the stick and his fingers on the table, aimed, and with a single smooth thrust, led with the break shot.

Abbie had enough. The anger was rising in her and if she didn’t leave now, she would seriously consider shooting these guys. She really didn’t want to deal with the fallout and with Reyes herself. This place - and these idiots - just weren’t worth it.

Maybe they could get a couple pints to go or a six-pack somewhere and go crash in their hotel room.

She grabbed Crane’s arm to get his attention. ‘Crane, just ignore them and let’s go.’

But Crane didn’t seem to hear her. He was currently staring down Lyle, who was chalking his own cue in amusement.

Abbie knew that this guy had finally gotten under Crane’s skin.

This would not end well.

Lyle used the tip of the stick to flick the front edge of Crane’s coat. ‘So what are you, one of those Revolutionary War dress up pansies?’ The way Lyle spoke, it was obviously he thought Crane was a re-enactor, and decided to use that _fact_ to mock him.

‘It is none of your business what I am.’

Abbie could see Crane’s hands clenching and unclenching and knew he was trying to keep his agitation in check. The fact that he had consumed almost three beers already wasn’t going to help the matter.

Lyle continued poking the stick around Crane’s coat, marring the wool with streaks of light blue chalk. ‘I think it is my business. You got an accent.’

Crane just smirked, ‘Do I now?’ His reply sounded more amused and sarcastic now.

Behind them, Bob fired off another pool shot, though Abbie could see his attention was still very much attuned toward his friends.

‘Yeah you do. And I seem to remember that America kicked your sorry English ass back across the water and won the war.’

‘Did they now?’

‘Yeah, they did. You’d do well to remember that when your infesting my country with your presence. I got the right to go and pursue my happiness, and you’re making me really unhappy right now.’ Lyle now jabbed Crane hard in the chest with the tip of the cue.

Crane’s eyes narrowed dangerously, ‘And you would do well to remember those men who died fighting for your life and liberty and your so-called pursuit of happiness. Or did you forget that whilst acting a fool and a coward in this bar, especially in the presence of a lady. You are an insult and a disgrace to the fine Patriots of this country.’

Lyle’s face turned bright red, flushed with anger, “Why, you goddamn son of a bitch…’

It was as though time slowed down and everything moved in slow motion.

Lyle curled his fist, reached back and aimed a massive punch right at Crane face.

To Abbie’s amazement, her partner had already anticipated the move. He ducked quickly and then socked the bully incredibly hard in the stomach. Lyle doubled over and the pool cue released from his hand.

With lightening reflexes, Crane caught the wooden stick before it hit the floor, whirled it around and bashed one of the other guys hard in the shoulder and head. The man stumbled into some nearby chairs and hit the ground hard.

Right at the same moment, Abbie felt a strong hand grab her roughly on the arm and knew it was Bob. With her heel, she immediately stomped him in the shin and knee, then turned around and punched him right in the chin, knocking him back so hard he too fell onto his ass.

She whipped back around and saw Crane standing stock still, holding the stick in his hand like a sword. He twirled it around between his fingers a couple of times, then pointing it menacingly toward the remaining two bullies.

‘We asked you to leave this place and now you will obey. Leave us be and do not return.’ Crane voice was low and Abbie could tell he was trying to contain his anger.

The remaining guys just held up their hands in surrender, and without another word, turned and hurried out of the place, the third guy who’d fallen onto the chair half-stumbling behind them.

Crane whirled around and pointing the cue back toward Lyle and Bob, who were still struggling to stand up.

Abbie moved to stand right by Crane’s side and her hand moving to her gun again. ‘You have ten seconds before I let him take another crack at you, and then I’ll personally arrest you and throw your ass in jail.’ Abbie said, in her own stern and commanding tone.

The two rednecks didn’t take more than 5 seconds.

They both jumped up and high-tailed it out of the bar, Lyle clutching his stomach and Bob limping heavily.

Abbie watched them leave. A few seconds later, the bartender miraculously appeared out of nowhere, two pints in hand. ‘Here, on the house. I can’t thank you enough, ma’am. Those guys are here every weekend, irritating the hell out of me and my customers.’

‘Why don’t you get the cops in here?’ Abbie asked.

The bartender shrugged. ‘Can’t. One of them is my nephew, one of them works in the only car garage in town and one of them delivers for me. What can you do?’ He shrugged as though the situation was perfectly normal before heading back to the bar.

_The hell?_

Abbie and Crane looked at each other in completely disbelief.

‘Where did you learn to do that?’ She asked him now, pointing at the pool cue.

‘Fencing and Swordplay.’ He answered, as he twirled the stick around in his hand with an exaggerated flourish.

‘You’re going to have to teach me that.’

‘Anytime. I am at your command.’ He said, adding one final fancy whirl.

Abbie just laughed at Crane’s theatrics.

‘Well, Lieutenant. It seems we cannot go anywhere together without encountering some sort of trouble.’ Crane said, dropping the cue on the pool table and picking up his beer.

‘Drama is our middle name.’

Crane chuckled. ‘I say we finish our ale and then retire for the evening.’

Abbie raised her own glass in response, ‘Here, here.’

Both finished off their beers in record time and started heading back to the hotel room. As they were walking through the parking lot, she felt sharp tinge of pain tweak her left shoulder.

What were the odds she could convince Crane to finish that massage?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My geography is probably completely off. I have no idea of what the area looks like if one were to drive near the borders of New York State and Pennsylvania. Just pretend there are a lot of country roads, and small towns here and there.
> 
> In the US Constitution, one of the most famous lines of course is: “Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness.” There are multiple interpretations of the word happiness. Happiness could be personal positivity and fulfillment, but in the case of the Constitution, some scholars believe is actually refers to the pursuit of property or the pursuit of security (personal or property). A person’s security could also be interpreted as ones’ own personal and property rights, as some scholars have speculated.
> 
> I have the bullies pick Zeppelin’s D’yer Mak’er, and Abbie being disgusting by it, but in reality I love the song and Led Zeppelin themselves. If you listen to the first bit of the song, you might see why I picked it. I was trying to find a song that I think guys like that would pick, but decided the lyrics also were somewhat appropriate to this.
> 
> My plan is to get to ten stories in total. I already know exactly how the final one will be, so next task is to figure out the ninth story.
> 
> Thank you all for reading and I love your comments and kudos, especially you MarshmallowDeviant! xoxo


	9. The Festival

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is my second last story of the series. Unlike my previous ones, this is a continuation of Chapter 8 - **The Road Trip** \- so there are some callbacks to what happened in that story. I have **Marshmallowdeviant** to thank for the inspiration and her lovely awesome support. So I dedicate this chapter to my favourite  Deviant!
> 
> It's flirty, fun, romantic and slightly sexy (hopefully). Again, sorry no smut. I leave that to the brilliant smutsperts of the SH fandom.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

_Abbie POV_

Abbie Mills was speeding down rural route 45, 90km an hour, flying along a narrow two-lane country road that ran through several small non-descript towns in mid New York State.

The radio was on - volume low - a bluesy tune barely audible in the background. She glanced over at the passenger seat, to make sure that the music wasn’t bothering her partner.

Ichabod Crane was resting his head against the window of the car, body slightly slumped in seat, hands limp in lap. It was the most casual she had ever seen Crane. He stirred a little now, then nestled down a bit more against the plush fake leather passenger seat.

She smiled sadly.

Their road trip was almost over.

Abbie glanced at the clock on the dash. It was 7:01 pm. She noted the trip odometer and knew that they still had at least 10 more hours to drive before they arrived back in Sleepy Hollow. The sun was already low in the sky, casting long shadows onto the road.

They needed to find a place to stay for the night; the final night of their “vacation”.

And what a vacation it was.

As Abbie zoomed along, she lost herself in thought, mulling over the events of the last week as the tall evergreens lining the road rushed by in a greenish brown blur.

At the onset of their trip, they ended up in a dingy pub and almost got their asses kicked by a group of ignorant rednecks.

Two days later they were almost run off the narrow dirt road by a transport truck. She remember Crane grousing that this was the second time those “infernal” white boxes on wheels had almost killed him.

One night, their motel room lost power; a sudden storm barrelled though, causing an old decrepit tree to finally collapse. Thin hydro lines attempted to break its fall and failed miserably, cutting off all power to the motel. It became horribly cold in their room and part of the ceiling had collapsed because of the brief yet intense rain.

There was no other room they could move to – all of the rooms were occupied - and Abbie didn’t want to sleep in the car. However, the weather cleared as fast as it arrived, so she and Crane spent the night on the tiny balcony, sitting together on the long bench seat, several thin blankets wrapped around their shoulders. Drinking room service wine and munching on some chips, they spent all night talking and - if Abbie let herself admit it – flirting and being physical with each other all night. 

At one point, she felt so chilled that her whole body shook. Crane pulled her close to his chest, wrapping his own blankets around her shoulders, his own hands attempting to warm hers. She felt so comfortable and relaxed in her life. Apparently, Abbie had fallen asleep in his arms, because she woke up hours later, still wrapped in his arms, her head resting against his chest while he was gazing out at the landscape in the distance.

When she looked up at him, he simply smiled down at her, lightly kissed the top of her head, before disentangling himself and heading back into their hotel room.

She pushed that thought from her mind, and the other little “moments” she had shared with Crane on this trip. She wouldn’t even let herself dwell on the most amazing back massage she had ever had.

_Nope. Not thinking about it._

She forced her thoughts to the actual work they did on the trip. The interview itself was a challenge. It took them almost a full day to track down their target. Dr. S. M. Reeves had changed addresses several times, and currently was trying desperately to live off the grid. When Abbie asked him why he was so adamant to be “invisible”, some mumblings about how “they” are watching and listening, how “they” would be coming and that he valued his privacy first and foremost.

To Abbie’s relief though, he was quite willing to discuss the crime in details, spending almost three days with the Witnesses. In her mind, this road trip had been totally worth it. She had enough information to reopen the case and most likely get a conviction she and Reyes was looking for.

Now, with a pang of sadness, Abbie and Crane were heading back to Sleepy Hollow to resume their daily lives. The trip was almost over.

Though she was used to spending almost every moment with Crane, the last two weeks were very different. They spend all of their time together, that was true, but this time is was almost in pure fun. They were no demons chasing them. No ghosts or magic that terrorized them. They were not running for their lives or fighting off evil or trying to save humanity.

Instead, there was a copious amount of eating, drinking and relaxing. They visited shops and museums and parks. There were hours of just doing wandering around doing... _nothing…._

Yet they saw everything.

_It was absolute heaven._

The slumping Brit stirred in his sleep again and Abbie decided to wake him up to tell him of their detour.

‘Crane?’ She kept her eyes on the road, but reached over with one hand and gently nudged her partner’s knee.

He opened his eyes slowly and turned his attention towards her. ‘Miss Mills?’ He sounded groggy and his voice was slightly hoarse. The many shots of whiskey he downed last night in the hotel bar were most likely the cause.

‘Hey. We still have too much driving to do before we get back to Sleepy Hollow. We’re going to have to spend one more night in a motel. You okay with that?’

He remained silent and Abbie had to wait to be able to take her eyes off the road long enough to look at Crane, to see why he wasn’t immediately responding.

When she finally was able to glance at him, she saw that his eyes were half-closed and he was smiling contentedly. ‘I think that is an excellent idea.’

………………

Abbie drove for another half hour, before entering the small town of Lafayetteville. _Incorporated 1782. Population 10,000._

‘Incorporated in 1782? My word.’ Crane was fully awake now and eagerly and rapidly scanning the area, as he tended to do.

‘Town’s younger than you.’ Abbie quipped.

‘But not as charming.’ Crane countered, making her laugh.

He had been doing this all “vacation” long. Little comments here and there, things that she could only describe as Crane “teasing” and “flirting.”

‘I don’t know….’ She trailed off, deciding to tease him back. ‘If this place has some decent food and someone who can make a nice martini, you’re gonna lose your rank of Captain Charming.’

She could feel his eyes bore into her, and stole a quick glance, only to see his eyes were glittering in amusement. She grinned for a moment before turning her attention back to the road and to the signs, all leading straight into _Downtown Lafayetteville._

……………

 

The hotel itself was easy to find. It was located at the end of the half-mile long Main Street of the tiny town. Abbie parked her car in the available back lot and both she and Crane headed into the lobby and toward the front desk.

The moment they stepped up to the unoccupied counter to check in, a short yet robust elderly man appeared from around the corner, wearing the brightest smile she had ever seen.

To Abbie’s absolute shock, he was wearing a ratty tricorn hat, a black vest and white scarf expertly tied around his neck. Peering over the counter, she could see that he matched his outfit with modern black slacks and practical loafers.

His vest was pinned with a gold nameplate. The slight man’s name was Harold and he was the hotel manager.

She glanced over at Crane, whose eyes widened as he took in the man’s outfit.

Crane may have originated in the 18th century, but even at this point in his modern existence, seeing another person who was not a “re-enactor”, and dressed in clothing from his era would slightly unnerve him.

Before they could say anything, the man pointed at Crane. ‘That, sir, is a fabulous coat? Did you make it yourself or find it at a costume shop? Pray tell, sir.’

Throughout this entire road trip, Crane’s had varied his clothing choices. Sometimes he wore his full outfit of tall boots, breeches, tie-front shirt and coat. Other times - like today - he went more modern, wearing casual boot-cut cotton pants, henley shirt and black canvas shoes.

But he was never without his coat, which the white-haired man was thoroughly admiring now. 

‘A dear friend fashioned this for me.’ Crane answered truthfully, a tinge of sadness in his voice. Abbie knew that Crane would always hold deep affection for Caroline and deep regret over her undeserved death.

‘Well, sir…’ and here, Harold tipped his hat towards Abbie, ‘…and madam. My name is Harold and the Hotel and Town of Lafayetteville heartily welcomes you to our 124th Annual Street festival!’

‘Street fest?’ Abbie asked.

‘Oh yes.’ He answered jovially. ’Every year we pay tribute to the Marquis de Lafayette, with a week long street festival. He was George Washington’s most trusted advisor, doncha know.’

Crane and Abbie shared a quick knowing look, but neither said anything. 

Harold didn’t seem to notice this, instead continuing his story. ‘The Marquis apparently only passed through this area once during the Revolutionary War, but hey, any excuse to celebrate, right? Here, let me get you checked in quickly so you can get out there. The festival goes on until about midnight tonight. It’s the last night too. Trust me - it’s a great time.’

…………………

Harold had checked them in as fast as possible. Abbie was utterly thankful that they managed to snag the last room. The hotel was almost completely filled up due to the festival, and the only room left was a standard room with two double beds.

Without even asking them, he had registered them as _Mr. And Mrs. Mills_ and asked if the spelling was correct. 

Before Abbie could correct the hotel manager, Crane immediately piped up, ‘Yes, the spelling is correct.’

Abbie just looked at Crane with a curious glance, but he just shrugged it off. Both of them had become used to this. Almost every time they checked into a hotel or motel, the front desk clerk automatically assumed they were a married couple. The fact that this reduced the cost of the trip for Reyes was a plus. Crane, ever the surprise, never protested once, instead just taking it at face value.

Once they were checked in, Harold handed over their room keys, ‘This year is a really good one. Lots of great food and the old recipe craft beers and ciders are amazing. You’ve got to try them. I may have already.’ His cheeks flushed adorably red at this admission. ‘And don’t forget the carnival games are at the end of the street!’

They wandered up the steps and entered their 3rd floor room, located right at the end of the hallway. On a whim, she decided to finally ask him why he didn’t protest sharing a room with her.

‘Miss Mills, as a soldier on a march, I was invariably sharing hastily assembled barracks and draughty tents with several men under very close quarters. _Very close._ It was not unheard of wake up with another gentleman lying most intimately close. I think sharing a large room - with separate beds - with my fate entwined partner is a most welcome alternative.’ His brow tweaked as emphasis.

‘What if there was only one bed in here?’

Crane studied her for a long time, before answering, ‘Then I would hope you would let me share yours.’ 

‘Or I would be the one sharing _yours_ , right Captain Charming?’

‘Mmm…indeed.’

After dumping their bags on the beds - and Abbie once again claiming the bed by the window - they headed out onto the packed Main Street.

Their hotel was the starting point of the festival. The old hotel was located at an intersection, and the entrance to the street had been blocked by meter high metal fences.

The moment they stepped through the front doors of the lobby and onto the sidewalk, they were inundated by the enthusiastic and fun festival atmosphere. 

Abbie and Crane started casually wandering down the street, simply taking in the sights and sounds.

Families, couples and groups of teenagers wandered aimlessly along the streets or bunched together around picnic tables and benches that lined the narrow road. They were laughing and playing or having animated conversations. The mood and atmosphere felt almost electric. 

The central street reminded Abbie of a typical small town, which usually had only one major street running through the area. Three and four story buildings, most at least a century old, ran along the sides of the street, as far down as she could see. The old buildings were a mix of what the local townsfolk needed; small grocery store, butcher shop, pharmacy, delicatessen, hardware store, tea shop, antique shop, consignment clothing store, and other miscellaneous independent businesses.

Red, white and blue bunting hung from the balconies of almost every building. She could make out a few bar patios in the distance, the wrought-iron fences also clad with decorative bunting.

Strings of multi-coloured lights lined the streets, as did long tables and booths set up to serve the festival patrons.

Groups of people - families, friends or couples - were wandering around, food or drink in hand, just joking or having animated conversations and obviously having a good time.

Abbie estimated that the entire closed off festival area was almost half a mile long.

As they continued wandering down the street, Abbie thought she could hear music from a live band. Periodically, they would pass by festival goers who were dressed in replica 18th century clothing. A few kids ran around laughing and playing, flimsy paper tricorn hats perched on their tiny heads.

Thousands of people were wandering around the street, just enjoying the infectious festival atmosphere.

She smiled up at Crane now, who was also taking in the sights, a bit of awe on his face. ‘So, what do you think?’ she asked him.

He looked down at her with a grin on his face, ‘I think we should go partake of some of the local food, ale and entertainment.’

‘I bet you’re especially looking forward to the ale, am I right?’ she teased.

His lips curled into a smirk, as his eyebrow similarly quirked. ‘Ah Miss Mills, you know me all too well….’

She wrapped her hand around the crook of his elbow and they slowly wandered down the street, simply taking in the sights and reveling in the party atmosphere.

………

_Would you like try our original recipe IPA? Flavoured with hops straight from our garden!_

_Try our Apple Mix Cider! Made with four kinds of apples and over 7% alcohol! It’s our best batch ever!_

_Get your popcorn on the cob! Only two dollars a cob, get your popcorn on a cob._

All along the street, vendors had set up tables, all overflowing with various food, boozy drinks and tacky souvenirs, and were furiously advertising their wares to the public. After talking with some locals, she and Crane learned that the food, drink, souvenirs and carnival prizes had been donated by various locals or several generous business. The purpose of the yearly festival was to raise money for the needs of the historical town.

Abbie had to admit, the food selection was amazing and the smells were making her mouth water. One table has savoury sticky barbecued ribs. Another, spicy jerk chicken on a stick. Roasted corn on the cob, poutine, pork kebobs, empanadas and meat pies were all available to devour. Sweets included ice cream sandwiches, powdered doughnuts, cotton candy, frozen yogourt and fruit slushies.

The drinks were even better. Several vendors were offering their small batch craft beers, whiskeys and ciders for sale. Abbie and Crane had already tried Lafayette’s Amber Ale, Gwinnett’s Signature India Pale Ale, and now were standing in front of another table, offering Cherrytown’s Own Apple Cider.

Both she and Crane bought a pint each, served in disposable plastic cups. Three bucks a pint seemed a pretty good price.

Abbie hooked her arm through Crane’s again, while carefully holding her almost overflowing pint in her other hand. Crane was doing the same with his own plastic cup. ‘How fast can you chug that?’

‘Chug?’ He eyed her curiously.

‘Yeah, chug. Drink the entire contents as fast as possible?’

The most devious smile she had ever seen appeared on Crane’s lips. ‘So you wish to go on a tear?’

Abbie looked at Crane with confusion, so he attempted to clarify.

‘You with to consume as much alcohol as possible within these festival walls?’ His brow arched and Abbie realized that to him, going on a tear meant to basically to do some copious amounts of binge drinking.

‘You know what I like, old man.’ She arched her own brow as her lips curled into a confident smirk. ‘Last person to finish their drink sleeps on the floor!’

…………….

They slowly made their way down the crowded streets, drinking another highly alcoholic cider that was touted as one of John Adams’ original recipes. Abbie rolled her eyes as Crane insisted that the cider was neither potent nor cloudy enough to be authentic.

She was feeling it. She was definitely feeling it. Her half-finished cider was her fourth drink and she felt light and giddy.

Crane seemed okay though. He once told her how in his own time, beer or spirits were drunk with every meal. It was not unheard of to have a small morning meal of bread and a bit of meat, downed with two pints of beer. Two more pints at “lunch” was normal, as was a mickey of whiskey with afternoon tea, following by raucous drinking at some shady pub in the evening.

Coupled with the fact that he was so much bigger than she, his tolerance was pretty high. He walked closely behind Abbie, warm hand resting lightly at her waist, as though he were guiding her along the street. 

They were coming to the end of the enclosed festival area; This was the far end of the closed off Main Street. From what Abbie could see, this was the vicinity of the festival where most of the carnival games had been clustered together There was a Skee ball area, a game throwing darts at balloons, a small kiddie fishing game, two basketball hoops, Whack-a-Mole and a roulette like horserace betting game. 

But it was the large group of people clustered at the very end of the games area that drew Abbie’s attention.

‘Let’s check this out.’ She declared, grabbing Crane’s arm and pulling him toward the crowd. She didn’t know what the game was; all she saw was a table to the right, stacked to overflowing with a variety of huge stuffed animals. 

Suddenly, the booming voice of the carnival employee running the game rang out. “Here ye, here ye! Ladies and Gentlemen! Come one, come all and see if you can beat Lafayettevilles’ unbeatable Musketeer, Franklin Raines!’

Curiosity peaked, the pair carefully manoeuvered through the dense crowd and took spots closest to the Carny. The thin grizzled man was standing in front of a large table of toys, a thick red curtain about three meters wide hung behind it, serving as an opaque wall. Another table stood opposite; two muskets, two small powder horns and an open box filled with what looked like paper cigars lying on the top. Abbie guessed those paper cigars somehow held the ammunition but wasn’t entirely sure how. In the far distance, two shooting targets were set on individual easels and sitting in front of an old brick building.

At the sight of the musket, Abbie looked up at her partner, whose brow was arched in interest, his attention completely focused on the decrepit-looking carnival runner.

‘Do you think you can beat our champion musketeer, Franklin Raines?’ The Carny asked in a bellowing tone, pointing at a young man half-twenty. ‘Do _you_ think you can win? _Do you?_ ’ He repeated several more times, pointing at the various spectators, drawing laughs and titters from the crowd.

‘I think I can best your man.’ A familiar voice rang out.

The crowd drew silent and all attention turned to Abbie and Crane. She looked up at him, slightly mortified. ‘What are you doing? The last time you loaded one of those things was more than two years ago. You’re going to be a bit rusty.’

Crane bent down and whispered in her ear, ‘Technically, it was over two-hundred years ago, but that does not matter. I will defeat him. In battle you had but little time to reload before the enemy appeared. Speed was of the essence.’ He paused, flashing his signature confident smile, ‘This so-called “Muskateer” has never been in true battle. He will be too slow.’

‘I don’t know, Crane, you’ve had some booze already. Slows your reaction time.’

‘This would be normal battle circumstances, then.’

She chuckled at that, then quickly wondered how many soldiers in Crane’s time were half-drunk on the battlefield.

Abbie just shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly, ‘Alright Crane, go for it. I just never thought of you as a stuffed animal man.’ She gestured to the table of stuffed toys with the plastic cup in her hand, before taking a long drink.

‘I do not wish to win an animal for myself. I wish to win one for you.’ 

Abbie almost choked on her drink. Before she could clear her throat to respond, he had moved forward and declared loudly, ‘I accept the challenge.’

The crowd started murmuring, as a large burly man stepped out from behind the curtains. The man touted as “Franklin Gaines” was as tall as Crane, if not a couple inches more. For theatrical effect, he had clad himself in a ratty red replica Redcoat, matching breeches and black tall boots. He was wearing a messy white wig but no accompanying hat. The costume was well-worn and clearly homemade, but was perfect for the circumstances.

Abbie couldn’t help but laugh at the irony. Here was Crane, two hundred plus years in the future, once again battling the British.

The Carny now yelled out, ‘We have a challenger! Step up to the table and prepare to be beat by our undefeated Musket Loading Master, Mr. Franklin Gaines!’

The crowd let out a deafening cheer.

Abbie eyes darted around and she started to feel swept up by the crowd. If this so-called “Musket Loading Master” had never been beaten, how cool would it be if Crane was the one to do it? She glanced over at the mound of stuffed animals and felt a strange twinge of yearning and excitement.

It was cheesy and stupid and childish, she knew, but for some reason, she really, _really_ wanted one of the enormous stuffed animals. The toys were nearly as large as she was, at least a meter long. Logically, she knew she could simply purchase a large stuffed toy to take home, but there was something about having someone else make the effort to win at a shady carnival game that totally thrilled her.

Franklin sized up Crane, as though amused that this stranger would dare challenge him, while Crane just smirked back, equally as arrogant. It was theatrics for the spectators and the ragtag crowd was eating it up.

‘The rules are simple.’ The weathered Carny announced loudly. ’Load the musket as fast as you can, aim and fire at the target. The first target hit will light up automatically. Whichever target lights up first, wins!’

Abbie smiled as Crane seemed to be studying the distance to the targets carefully. They were placed about thirty feet away, perched about three feet in front of a brick wall. Two large ratty mattresses were leaning against the wall behind them, apparently to absorb any stray musket balls. Tall mesh fences lined the way towards the targets, preventing any spectators from wandering into the firing path.

Crane now picked up the left side musket and examined it carefully, his long fingers dancing over various parts of the weapon; sight and rod, hammer and pan, trigger and jaw, flint and frizzen. After a moment, he placed the musket back down on the table, and with thumb and forefinger, rubbed some of the contents of the powder horn between his fingertips. He brought his blackened fingers up to his nose, seemingly testing the “quality” of the powder by scent. Once satisfied, he placed one of the paper “cigars” in his palm, apparently testing the weight and feel of the ammunition charge.

The burly Franklin just laughed at Crane’s antics, instead flexing and unflexing his fingers, loosening them up in anticipation.

‘As is tradition, the challenger may choose the target.’

‘I shall take the left target.’ Crane answered immediately.

‘Ladies and Gentlemen, our challenger takes the left. And our unbeaten Muskateer always prefers the right side target! How fortunate!’ The Carny bellowed to the delight of the crowd. ’Ready gentlemen?’

Both men nodded, focused and determined looks on each of their faces.

‘On my mark, at the count of three…’

Abbie felt herself tense with anticipation. The excitement of the crowd and the competition itself was making her surprisingly nervous. _C`mon Crane, you can do it, I know you can, kick this guys’ ass..._

_‘THREE…!’_

The spectators quieted down. Abbie quickly drained the last of her cider.

_‘TWO…!’_

The crowd fell completely silent. Abbie clenched her fingers tight, crushing the plastic cup in her palm.

 _‘One……'_ The Carny drawled out, lingering for effect… 

‘AND GO!!!’

Abbie had never seen two humans move so fast in her life. The moment the word GO was yelled out, it was as though these guys were moving at double speed. Her eyes were completely focused on Crane and she was amazed by what she saw.

He snatched the musket from the table, half-cocked the hammer and quickly positioned the musket butt onto the ground. Grabbing one of the paper cigars, he ripped the top part off with his teeth. Pouring the powder from the charge into the barrel, he spit the still paper-covered musket ball from his mouth into his hand, then quickly shoved it into the barrel. In an efficient move, he pulled out the long ramrod, tamping down the bullet and wadding. Again using his teeth, he pulled the top off one of the horns, leveled the gun, and quickly poured some powder into a spot near the trigger. With the metal cap still between his lips, he recapped the powder horn, threw it towards the table, quickly aimed and with only a minuscule hesitation, pulled the trigger.

A fraction of a second later, Franklin fired his own musket. A flash of light and a thick cloud of smoke burst out from each weapon. Through the dense smoke, one of the targets in the distance could be seen glowing bright red.

The Carny seemed to emerge through the haze, waving his arms around wildly, trying to clear the air. ‘Ladies and Gentlemen, give us one moment for the smoke to clear and for the winner to be declared.’ The glow of the red light in the distance was getting stronger, and Abbie knew that it was the left-most target.

She moved to Crane’s side and jumped up to hug him. ‘Oh my gawd, that was insane. I’ve never seen anything like that before in my life.’ She gushed in awe, now gazing up into his face. He has some powder debris on his cheek from firing the musket and, without thinking, automatically brushed the dirt from his face.

Before he could respond, the Carny spoke up again, ‘Ladies and Gentlemen! For the first time in a long time, we have a new champion!’ With that, he grabbed Crane’s wrist and raised it up into the air, just as a referee would a winning boxer. 

‘Let’s give it up for our new champion!!’ As the crowd cheered, Franklin approached Crane and held out his hand. ‘Well deserved congratulations, my friend.’ Gaines seemed winded.

‘You are a formidable opponent, my good man.’ Crane replied truthfully, and the two men shook hands.

The Carny addressed Crane directly, the formal tone in his voice completely gone. ‘Well done, man, holy crap.’ Turning to Abbie, he added, ‘And congrats to his lucky lady. Which prize did ya want? We got lots, as no one ever wins them! Ha!’ He held out his hand towards the table overflowing with enormous stuffed toys. 

Crane looked down at Abbie as he slid his hand along her back. ‘You must choose your prize.’ There was distinct tone of pride in his voice and he wore a contented smile on his face.

Abbie bit her lip as she went over to the table to see what selection was in the mix. She had always wanted one of these huge stuffed animals. Money was tight in her house, even before her mother was send to Tarrytown. Once Abbie ended up in foster care, there were no toys to be had.

As she examined the haphazard pile of plush, she could make out a gorilla, a teddy bear, a tiger, a dolphin, a cow and an elephant. Then, peeking out from the very bottom of the pile, she spotted a tail.

‘That’s the one.’ She declared with a happy smile, touching the light brown tufty end. ‘That one, please.’

…………..

Abbie and Crane slowly wandered back towards the hotel, all eyes on them as they walked down the main street strip. Not because of Crane’s amazing musket loading abilities, but because the six-foot plus man had a huge stuffed lion draped over his shoulders, furry ears poking up from behind his head.

Crane had insisted on carrying it for Abbie, his large hands holding the equally large front paws together as they wrapped around his shoulders. The toy lion really was almost her size. Crane joked that if she did carry the stuffed animal, the floppy plush would envelope her so completely that festivals goers would think an actual lion were loose on the grounds. 

That earned him laugh and a good-natured punch to the chest.

Also at that instance, Abbie was carrying late night snacks - popcorn and doughnuts - along with a six-pack of cider and a couple mickeys of whiskey. The plan was to get back to the hotel, munch on carnival junk food and get nicely buzzed on the ridiculously good alcoholic drinks.

Entering their 3rd floor room, Crane placed the lion onto Abbie’ bed, while she set the booze and food down onto the lone dresser.

‘Well, that was an enjoyable excursion.’ Crane declared.

‘Yeah, it was.’ Abbie truly thought that. Their two week work “vacation” was absolutely amazing and this last night had been so much fun. Abbie had been to several traveling carnivals before in Sleepy Hollow, but for some reason, this particular one was the best she had ever attended.

She grabbed one of the ciders and twisted off the cap. ‘Did you want one?’

‘Yes, please, if you would be so obliged.’ 

Popping a second bottle, she handed it over to Crane, then plunked down on the side of her bed.

Crane stayed standing, holding the bottle against his chest, as he carefully studied her.

Under his intense gaze, she smiled almost shyly, ‘I can’t believe you won me a stuffed animal.’

‘Miss Mil… _Abbie?_ ’

‘Mmmm…’

‘Abbie…I have had the most wonderful times these last two weeks. I am sad to see it end.’

‘Me too. But I thought for sure you would get bored with the endless repetitive interviews. Hashing and rehashing the same thing over and over again?’

Crane bowed his head low, himself now uncharacteristically reserved, ‘No I did not. I was simply fascinated watching you perform your duties.’

‘Crane, you’ve seen me perform my duties before.’

Abbie now stretched out on her bed and hugged the lion tight, letting out a deep sigh as she did. ‘This thing is soo soft…!’

It was a minute before either said anything more, instead Crane simply gazed down at her, the corners of his mouth curled into a grin, her own contentedness clearly making him happy. 

‘Have I said thank you?’

‘Yes, you have.’ He paused a moment, before a mischievous look appeared on his face. ‘I am pleased that you seem to adore this stuffed lion.’ He now moved to the other side of her bed and sat down on the edge. ‘And I wish to offer you my own thank you.’

Abbie propped herself up on her elbow, a bit surprised and confused. ‘Yeah? Thank you for what?’

Crane shifted onto the bed a little more, so he could better face Abbie. He placed a hand on the lion and starting absentmindedly petting it. ‘For allowing me to accompany you on this adventure. For allowing me to share this time with you.’

Abbie smiled, patting his hand with her own. ‘That’s what partner’s do. To be honest, I actually like it when you are with me when I work.’

‘No.’

Abbie’s brow furrowed. ‘What do you mean, _no?_ ’ The abruptness of his response threw her off a bit.

Crane shifted even further onto the bed so he could completely face her. He was seated on the right side of the bed, Abbie lying on the left, the stuffed lion wedged right between them. Crane’s left hand now stroked the fake fur mane, while his right held his drink.

‘Yes, very soft.’ He commented before taking a long drink, emptying more than half of the bottle as he did.

There was a hint of impatience in her voice, as she asked, ‘What do you mean by _no?_ ’

Crane drained his drink and leaned slightly back for a moment to place the empty bottle on the floor. ‘I would not enjoy spending every minute with a mere work partner. I have never spent so much time enjoying teasing a work partner. I have never relished huddling on a balcony all night, being together in ease and comfort.’ He paused, adding with a whisper, ‘Lying next to each other in bed, just being together as we are now.’

‘Don’t forget winning me huge stuffed animals.’

‘Indeed.’ Crane carefully moved the lion out from between them, gently shoving it against the headboard.

Was he messing with her now? Was the alcohol finally affecting him? She thought again about how his behaviour had been so open, so affectionate, how just plain devoted to her he was the entire trip.

Abbie leaned forward, deciding she would do her own teasing, in order to test the waters. ‘Don’t forget giving me the most amazing back massage I have ever had in my life.’

‘How could I forget?’ There was a sudden intense want in his eyes, as though he was reliving that memory right at that moment, and she felt butterflies fly up in her stomach. She could tell his breathing had sped up. 

Or maybe it was hers?

‘I think…I wish…’ He trailed off, for a moment uncertain how to continue, ‘Is that animal going to share your bed tonight?’

Abbie just grinned. She took another sip of her cider. ‘Maybe. It is cute and cuddly. It’ll keep me warm.’

‘I think that this beast is a poor substitute for live flesh and blood to keep you warm.’

Abbie laughed, ‘You think I should get a real lion?’

Crane tilted his head a little in that amused way of his. ‘No I do not.’ 

To Abbie’s surprise, he leaned closer to her and whispered. ‘I was hoping I would be the one to keep you warm.’

She slid a little closer to him, ‘I don’t know Crane. You’re kinda skinny. Not sure you have enough body fat to keep me warm.’

She looked deep into his eyes and knew this was it. This would be the culmination of their trip.

And of their relationship.

She knew Crane could never resist a challenge. In a sudden yet fluid motion, his hands snaked around her waist and he gently pulled her up onto his lap, so that she was straddling him. Her body was pressed completely against his solid form. She didn’t know why, but Crane being so uncharacteristically forward was totally turning her on.

And dear god, she wanted this. She wanted _him_. _Now._ His eyes told her a slightly different story. If she didn’t know any better, he looked as though he were fighting the desperate urge to rip her clothes off.

His lips were mere inches from hers. ‘Perhaps I should demonstrate how warm I can be?’

She ran her hands slowly up his chest before wrapping her arms around his neck, pulling him even closer to her, her lips gently brushing against his. ‘Or you could show me exactly how you intend to warm me up….’

……….

They were over a day late getting home to Sleepy Hollow. Jenny had been beside herself all day. But the moment her sister and her sister’s ever-present Witness partner walked in the door – both tired looking, hair a mess, clothes somewhat askew, but utterly glowing - Jenny just knew.

And grinned.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Again, thank you all for reading and hoped you enjoyed.
> 
> Terms to know:
> 
>  **Carny or Carnie:** A person who works in a carnival or amusement show.
> 
>  **Cider:** In this fic, Cider is the same as Hard Cider, which is essentially an alcohol drink made from apple juice. Cider can be the non-alcoholic version pressed from apples, but my stories all have tons of drinking in them, so always alcoholic ;')
> 
>  **Go on a Tear:** The phrase doesn’t make a whole lot of sense, in relation to going on a drinking spree, until you realize that tear hails from the Old English teran, meaning “to consume or destroy.” Both of which are apt to happen during a proper tear. (definition taken from Modern Drunkard magazine: www.drunkard.com)
> 
> The "cigar" that Crane uses to load the musket is one of the prepared ones that made loading that much faster. A specific amount of powder had to be poured into the barrel of the musket. Not enough and the bullet wouldn't have enough power. Too much, and there would probably be an explosion. When the trigger was pulled, the hammer released, allowed the flint that was attached to strike the pan (which is full of powder from the powder horn I mention), making a spark. The sparks ignite the gunpowder inside the barrel, thus firing the musket ball. The 'cigars' were known as charges. The powder in the barrel has to be a specific amount. The charges helped, because the soldiers didn't have to premeasure the gunpowder. It also kept the gunpowder dry. It also allowed the musket ball to be wrapped already in paper, securing the ball inside the barrel. The charges were made of paper, with one area containing the musket ball, the other containing the gunpowder. http://science.howstuffworks.com/flintlock2.htm
> 
> Got the idea of Crane loading the musket from the opening scene of Tempus Fugit, where Crane (or should I say, the hand double) was shown loading the musket close up. Loved that.
> 
> I liked the idea of Abbie - who is always so serious - getting giddy and excited at a stuffed animal. Also, since she is so tiny, the idea of having a huge one (I remember them from carnivals as a kid) that was her size.
> 
> The last chapter in this series is coming soon. It is an idea I've had for over a year or more. Guarenteed to be romantic and sweet.
> 
> As always, thank you for reading and Comments and Kudos always appreciated.


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